THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Santa  Monica  Public  Library 


KEELING    LETTERS 
AND    RECOLLECTIONS 


KEELING   LETTERS 
6?    RECOLLECTIONS 

EDITED  BY  E.  T.     ::       WITH  AN 
INTRODUCTION  by  H.  G.  WELLS 


NEW  YORK  :    THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


(All  right*  unntt*) 


library 

DA 

57 


TO  JOAN  HILLERSDON  KEELING 
AND  BERNARD  SIDNEY  KEELING 
/ 


EDITOR'S    FOREWORD 

AN  apology  may  seem  to  be  needed  for  publishing  letters 
so  intimate  and  personal  as  some  of  these.  I  can  only 
say  that  I  longed  to  preserve  some  record  of  the  thought 
and  effort  which  Keeling  put  into  the  conduct  of  life, 
and  I  am  certain  that  it  would  have  been  his  wish  that 
his  experience  and  even  his  blunders  and  his  failures  should 
be  of  use  to  others.  My  daughter's  courage  and  her  con- 
fidence in  my  judgment,  a  confidence  for  which  I  am  most 
grateful,  have  enabled  me  to  relate  the  circumstances 
of  his  life  with  a  frankness  which  would  have  been 
impossible  for  anyone  else. 

I  wish  to  thank  his  brother  and  those  friends  of  his  who 
have  helped  and  encouraged  me  in  the  task,  and  especi- 
ally Mr.  J.  C.  Squire,  by  whom  it  was  at  first  undertaken 
and  who  was  obliged  by  pressure  of  work  to  relinquish  it. 
To  him  I  am  indebted  both  for  help  with  the  letters  and 
for  permission  to  include  several  articles  that  appeared  in 
the  New  Statesman.  To  Mrs.  Green  my  thanks  are  due 
for  much  kind  assistance  and  sympathy ;  to  the  Bishop 
of  Southwark,  Mr.  Fort,  and  Mr.  Greenwood,  for  their 
reminiscences,  and  above  all  to  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells,  whose 
Preface  gives  point  to  the  book. 

While  expressing  my  gratitude  to  these  friends  of 
Reeling's,  I  am  anxious  to  disclaim  on  their  behalf  all 
responsibility  with  regard  to  the  selection  of  letters  and 
of  passages  from  his  journal.  Any  errors  of  taste  or  mis- 
representations of  fact  to  be  found  in  the  book  are  due 
entirely  to  me. 

E.  T. 


PREFACE 

"  BEN  "  KEELING  was  a  copious,  egotistical,  rebellious, 
disorderly,  generous,  and  sympathetic  young  man.  His 
egotism  is  the  prime  cause  of  this  book  ;  he  wrote  abundant 
letters,  and  they  were  often  about  himself ;  he  talked  and 
thought  a  great  deal  about  himself,  he  experimented  con- 
spicuously with  his  life,  and  so  he  can  be  documented  as 
most  of  his  compeers  in  these  late  years  of  tragedy,  though 
just  as  active  and  gallant  as  he,  cannot  be  documented. 
It  has  been  much  more  than  a  labour  of  affection  and  a 
personal  memorial  therefore  that  Mrs.  Townshend  has 
made  for  us  in  collecting  and  linking  together  the  pieces 
of  this  book.  She  has  had  at  her  disposal  as  complete 
and  expressive  a  specimen  of  the  educated  youth  of  the 
first  decade  of  this  century,  of  the  generation  which  has 
borne  the  main  brunt  of  this  war,  as  perhaps  we  are  likely 
to  get ;  and  she  has  not  only  paid  to  the  memory  of  her 
friend  and  quasi-adopted  son  and  son-in-law  the  best 
compliment  a  biographer  can  pay  to  his  subject,  that  of 
being  simply  frank  about  many  a  matter  that  gentility 
would  have  veiled,  but  she  has  earned  thereby  the  future 
gratitude  of  every  serious  student  of  this  very  crucial 
period  in  the  history  of  human  thought.  For  though 
every  age  is  in  its  way  an  age  of  transition,  this  age,  this 
red  dawn  of  world  unity,  in  particular  is  to  be  marked 
as  a  period  of  transition  and  conflict  between  two  widely 
differing  phases  of  human  thought  upon  political  and 
social  questions.  And  Keeling  was  as  lively  and  sensi- 
tive as  a  compass  needle  to  every  shade  of  conflict  and 
transition. 

He  was  a  wild,  loose  thing  ;    even  bodily  he  was  loose- 
limbed,  and  the  effect  of  many  of  his  discussions  in  this 


at  HEELING'S  LETTERS 

book  have  about  them  the  quality  of  an  intellectual  sprawl. 
He  could  climb  and  endure  fatigue ;  he  died  gallantly  and 
brilliantly  bombing,  but  at  Winchester  he  could  learn  to 
swim  only  with  great  difficulty.  It  is  just  that  loose 
sprawling,  with  its  rapid,  various  impacts  upon  ideas  that 
were  vividly  new  ten  years  ago,  and  that  are  already  in 
the  tumultuous  rush  of  events  fading  out  of  men's  memories, 
and  upon  movements  and  coteries  and  organizations  that, 
having  produced  results,  have  vanished  themselves  almost 
as  completely  as  Lob-lie-by-the-Fire  after  he  has  tidied  up 
the  house,  which  will  give  this  book  a  permanent  interest 
far  beyond  the  thick  network  of  personal  relationships 
that  radiate  from  its  mentions  and  allusions.  Ideas — 
movements — English  mentality  in  the  period  1904-16 — and 
a  bright-eyed,  flushed,  excited,  gesticulating  individual 
in  the  midst  thereof ;  that  is  this  book. 

Next  to  the  sprawl,  or  rather  as  a  contributory  factor 
to  the  sprawl,  is  Ben  Reeling's  unusual  detachment.     No 
father,  no  mother,  no  home,  no  background  at  all  more 
personal   than   the   large,  promiscuous  shelter  of  Trinity 
College,  a  young  man  of  eighteen  reputed  to  be  of  inde- 
pendent  means,   with   a  younger   brother  whom   he  was 
said  to  treat  with  edifying  sternness  ;   so  he  made  his  entry 
upon  our  stage.     Even  his  names,  it  must  be  noted,  fitted 
very  loosely.     For  years  I  believed  him  to  be  "  Ben  "  ;   at 
Cambridge  everybody  called  him  "  Ben,"  and  it  seemed 
to  describe  him  very  well.     Towards  the  end  some  R.F.A. 
men  decided  he  was  "  Siberian  Joe,"  which  was  still  more 
like  him — indeed,  I  think,  the  best  name  you  could  possibly 
imagine  for  him  :    but  his  proper  baptismal  name,  "  Fred- 
eric," suited  him  about  as  well  as  a  silk  hat  and  white 
linen  spatterdashes  would  have  done,  and  there  was  not 
a  trace  of  "  Freddiness  "  in  him  from  top  to  toe.     As  for 
the  "  Hillersdon,"  it  floats  up  in  the  formal  opening  of 
this  memoir  and  passes  immediately  out  of  the  attention 
of  the  reader,  incredibly  unsuitable  ;    it  is  like  a  nervous 
West  End  wedding  guest  drifting  into  and  as  rapidly  as 
possible  out  of  a  strike  meeting  in  a  back  street  of  Leeds. 
But    "  Siberian   Joe "   gives   you   his   voice,    his   effect   of 
clumsy   strength   and   energy,   his   little   busy   head   that 


PREFACE  xi 

could  hold  so  much  and  worked  so  restlessly,  his  round, 
red,  warmly  flushed,  rather  astonished  face,  and  his  very 
soft  and  engaging  brown  eyes.  When  first  I  met  it  as  the 
face  of  my  host  at  Trinity  College,  this  red  fist  of  a  face  was 
bare  and  boyish  ;  when  I  saw  it  last,  it  hailed  me  suddenly 
through  a  big  black  beard,  just  the  beard  that  Keeling 
would  have  grown,  rather  an  excessive,  luxuriant  beard. 
That  was  somewhen  before  the  war ;  I  think  in  1914, 
in  St.  James's  Park.  We  had  a  long  talk  then  about  a 
tremendous  crisis  in  his  affairs — there  were  many  crises 
in  his  affairs — and  as  far  as  I  could  I  gave  him  such  advice 
as  he  seemed  to  want.  The  particulars  of  that  crisis, 
though  I  know  it  was  a  very  serious  one,  have  now  quite 
gone  out  of  my  memory.  I  never  happened  upon  him 
again. 

His  personality  pervades  this  book,  and  it  is  a  curious 
and   interesting   personality ;     but   quite   apart   from   his 
personality  this  collection  and  memoir  have  a  very  great 
interest  indeed  in  the  picture  they  give  of  an  exceedingly 
active  and  curious  youth  in  a  time  of  intellectual  bank- 
ruptcy.    It  is  the  autobiography  of  a  mind  eager  to  get 
to  the  bottom  of  things,  a  personality  anxious  for  aim  and 
coherence,  in  a  time  when  there  seemed  to  be  no  direction 
for  youth  at  all  but  the  amateurish  efforts  of  journalists 
and  playwrights,  and  the  queerest  of  self-appointed  leaders 
and  advisers ;    all  the  official  and  accredited  priests  and 
prophets  being  in  effect  dumb,  without  stimulus  or  grip 
for  the  mind  of  this  younger  generation.     It  is  necessary 
that  the  reader  should  remember,  in   spite  of   a  certain 
maturity  of  style  and  spirit,  the  boyishness  of  almost  all 
these  letters  that   follow.     Keeling  began  by  being  pre- 
cocious, but  he  continued  to  be  immature,  and  he  died — 
in  an  act  of  boyish  self-forgetfulness — when  he  was  just 
thirty.     To  its  end  therefore  this  book  is  the  documenta- 
tion of  an  education.     Many  readers  will  note  with  aston- 
ishment and  dismay  the  names  that  this  young  man,  so 
voracious  for  ideas  and  for  direction  in  his  life,  treated 
with  respect.     Still  more  is  it  to  be  noted  what  he  ignored. 
He  took  a  First  Class  in  both  Part  I  and  Part  II  of  the 
History  Tripos,  and  most  of  the  discussion  in  these  pages 


xii  REELING'S   LETTERS  ' 

is  the  interpretation  of  contemporary  history.  And  it  is 
impossible  to  find  any  sign  that  his  two  years  of  Cambridge 
historical  study  had  given  him  any  view  of  the  current 
phase  of  human  affairs,  any  vision  of  the  process  of  man- 
kind, broader  or  profounder  than  what'  any  shop-clerk 
of  his  age  might  have  possessed.  His  mind,  it  will  be 
perceived,  was  an  abundant  mind,  but  his  thought  was 
journalistic.  His  ideas  were  not  joined  together  \  they 
were  picked  up.  He  emerged  from  the  Cambridge  machine 
a  first-class  product  and  a  potential  "  fellow,"  and  his 
mind  was  still  untrained.  For  two  years  he  must  have 
been  reading  and  remembering  about  human  happenings, 
but  there  is  no  effect  here  traceable  of  any  mental  gym- 
nastic whatever.  These  impressions  are  quick  and  vivid, 
but  to  the  end  it  is  the  natural  gifts  that  tell ;  he  does 
not  get  behind  his  impressions  to  essentials  with  the  grim 
steadiness  one  may  surely  demand  from  a  highly  trained 
man.  One  is  left  wondering  if  university  history  is  indeed 
any  sort  of  mental  training  at  all,  or  whether  it  is  still 
a  mere  matter  of  reading  and  anecdotage.  And  another 
thing  that  strikes  one  reader  at  least  as  extraordinary 
is  to  be  found  in  the  wildly  speculative  methods  and  the 
manifestly  disordered  nerves  of  Keeling  in  the  matter 
of  sex.  He  is  a  specimen  of  the  completest  education 
afforded  in  our  time  for  a  young  man  ;  his  was  the  educa- 
tion of  our  social  best ;  and  yet  he  knew  nothing  in  an 
ordered  way,  no  ideas  and  experiences  had  been  put 
before  him,  he  had  been  given  no  preconception  of  sexual 
psychology  at  all ;  he  had  had  to  "  find  out  "  for  himself 
about  these  matters  as  completely  as  if  he  had  been  a 
slum  boy  flung  into  a  blind-alley  occupation  at  the  age  of 
thirteen.  Time  was  when  education  led  up  to  initiation. 
Has  education  washed  its  hands  of  sex  ?  Keeling  fell 
back  on  plays  and  novels  and  Mr.  Edward  Carpenter ; 
a  majority  of  his  contemporaries  tried  the  music-halls 
and  the  streets  ;  the  official  oracles  were  dumb.  I  do  not 
know  if  that  will  strike  the  reader  as  being  as  remarkable 
as  it  does  me  ;  perhaps  my  ideas  of  what  a  complete  edu- 
cation should  comprehend  are  too  extensive,  but  certainly 
it  impresses  me  as  amazing.  What  is  a  university  edu- 


PREFACE  xiii 

cation  supposed  to  give  ?  So  far  as  the  testimony  of 
this  book  goes,  it  would  appear  to  give  nothing  but  the 
leisure  and  company  needed  for  the  reading  and  discussion, 
without  plan  or  aim,  and  for  the  most  part  with  one's 
equally  uninstructed  contemporaries,  of  a  miscellany  of 
writers.  And  is  there  not  something  wonderful  too  in 
the  spectacle  of  Keeling  ploughing  respectfully  through 
the  writings  of  Marx — who  died  quite  a  number  of  years 
ago  ?  One  would  have  supposed  that  Cambridge  had 
long  since  dissected  Marx,  treated  him  with  reagents, 
separated  out  the  dead  matter,  exposed,  displayed,  analysed, 
and  digested  him.  The  Natural  Science  Tripos  young 
men,  who  are  curious  about  comparative  anatomy,  do  not 
read  Owen's  "  Anatomy  "  or  the  works  of  Erasmus  Darwin. 
There  is  something  oddly  helpless  about  this  part  of  the 
story.  It  is  as  though  Keeling  ranged  about  calling  loudly 
for  information  while  our  "  higher  education "  stuck  in 
hiding. 

Keeling's  letters  and  articles  upon  the  opening  of  the 
war  and  the  events  of  his  service  are  a  valuable  picture 
of  the  state  of  mind  of  the  English  intelligentzia  of  his  time. 
I  wish  some  of  this  most  characteristic  matter  could  be 
put  before  German  readers  to  make  the  quality  of  our 
spirit  plainer  to  them.  And  from  that  point  onward  the 
story  is  very  representative  indeed.  It  was  extremely 
significant,  and  it  was,  I  know,  a  common  experience, 
that  the  new  men  should  become  at  first  enthusiastic 
soldiers,  keen  upon  discipline  and  with  an  enormous  respect 
for  the  Army  Tradition.  It  is  simple  enough  to  under- 
stand. For  the  first  time  in  their  lives  they  had  met 
direction  that  believed  in  itself.  For  the  first  time  they 
were  up  against  something  that  seemed  to  be  Order  and 
something  that  had  an  Aim.  How  gladly  they  gave  them- 
selves !  Keeling  renders  that  effect  most  illuminatingly. 
And  quite  in  the  vein  of  the  general  experience  is  the  dis- 
illusionment in  France.  All  these  youngsters  found  them- 
selves presently,  in  a  magnificent  army,  magnificently 
equipped  and  everywhere  in  the  ascendant — doing  nothing 
or  doing  only  ineffective,  partial  things  through  these 
precious  last  months  of  1916.  while  the  strength  of  Russia 


xiv  REELING'S   LETTERS 

and  the  possibility  of  complete  victory  wasted  like  sand  in 
an  hour-glass.  And  they  knew  what  was  happening  to 
them.  Keeling,  turning  to  the  nearest  possibility,  cries, 
"  If  only  we  had  a  French  Staff !  "  .  .  .  He  died  fighting 
bravely  over  some  trench  or  other  that  did  not  matter 
very  much,  and  for  an  advantage  that  belonged  to  no  plan 
nor  joined  on  to  any  scheme  in  particular.  And  many 
have  died  as  he  died.  Because  there  was  no  definite 
scheme.  Because  in  our  schools  and  universities  and 
books  and  newspapers  and  pulpits  men  have  grown  so 
accustomed  to  speak  and  write  in  undertones  and  with 
equivocations  and  subterfuges  that  the  capacity  to  plan 
greatly  has  gone  out  of  the  country,  and  youth — and  now 
a  fresh  generation  is  treading  the  path  Ben  Keeling  trod — 
asks  in  vain,  "  What  are  we  all  doing  ?  Where  are 
we  all  going  ?  What  is  the  Aim  of  it  all  ?  What  is 
my  part  ?  What  may  I  do  ?  What  must  I  do  ?  "  The 
teacher,  after  ambiguous  gestures  towards  Buckingham 
Palace  and  Westminster  and  a  quotation  from  Mr.  Asquith 
about  not  sheathing  the  sword,  veils  his  face.  .  .  . 

Keeling's  life  was  a  full  and  vivid  one,  but  it  was  largely 
wasted.  Or  if  it  is  not  to  be  counted  as  wasted  it  will 
be — if  one  may  be  paradoxical — because  it  is  the  most 
full,  natural,  artless  and  complete  demonstration  of  the 
wastefulness  of  an  indeterminate  educational  system 
entangled  with  an  indeterminate  political  system,  that  it 
is  possible  to  imagine.  What  a  fund  of  vitality,  what 
a  power  of  work,  what  a  promise  of  youth,  fell  back  into 
darkness  with  this  one  life  !  And  whether  they  dribble 
away  ingloriously  in  some  sort  of  mean  peace  or  are  snapped 
off  and  crushed  suddenly  in  a  planless  war,  the  lives  of 
young  men  must  needs  go  on  being  wasted  in  futile  quests 
and  vain  experiments,  more  of  them  and  more,  until  a  saner 
world  learns  to  speak  clearly  to  them,  to  prepare  tolerable 
social  and  political  institutions  for  them,  to  help  them  with 
its  accumulated  wisdom,  and  to  ask  them  plainly  for  all 
that  they  are  so  eager  to  give  and  do. 

H.  G.  WELLS. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

EDITOR'S  FOREWORD    ,  vii 

PREFACE           .            .            .            .            .  ix 

CHAPTER 

I.      MEMOIR                   ......  I 

II.      CAMBRIDGE   AND    LLANBEDR    (1908)        .  .  .22 

III.      VVALWORTH    (OCTOBER    1908   TO   OCTOBER    1909)             .  38 

iv.     LEEDS  (JANUARY  1910  TO  JUNE  1911)            .            .  57 

V.      LEEDS   AND   TIROL   (JULY    19! I    TO   JULY    1912)                .  8l 

VI.      SWITZERLAND   AND   ITALY   (SEPTEMBER   AND   OCTOBER 

1912)             ......  128 

VII.      LIFE    IN    LONDON  (NOVEMBER    1912    TO   AUGUST    1914)  147 

VIII.      SOLDIERING     IN     ENGLAND    (AUGUST     1914    TO    APRIL 

1915)                                                                                                      •  183 

IX.      APRIL   TO   DECEMBER,    1915        .                                  .                 .  223 

X.      JANUARY    I    TO    MAY   4,    1916      ....  262 

XI.       MAY    13    TO    AUGUST    l8,    1916    ....  283 


APPENDIX      I.       LETTERS     FROM     OFFICERS    OF     THE      D.C.L.I. 

WITH    REFERENCE    TO    REELING'S    DEATH     .      313 

APPENDIX    II.      FREDERIC      KEELING      AS      A      STUDENT       OF 

SOCIAL  PROBLEMS.     BY  ARTHUR  GREENWOOD      316 

INDEX  .  ,  .  .      325 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

F.  H.  KEELING,  AGED  20  .  .  .    Frontispiece 

Photographed  by  V.  H.  Mottram,  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge 

TO  FACE  PACK 

F.  H.  KEELING,  AGED  22  .  .  .  .39 

Photographed  by  V.  H.  Mottrara 

F.  H.  KEELING,  SERGEANT-MAJOR  D.C.L.I.,  AGED  30        .  283 


KEELING    LETTERS    AND 
RECOLLECTIONS 


CHAPTER    I 
MEMOIR1 

FREDERIC  HILLERSDON  KEELING  was  born  at  Colchester 
on  the  28th  March,  1886.  His  father  was  a  solicitor,  but 
he  retired  early  and  when  his  only  children — two  sons — 
were  born  he  was  living  a  life  of  leisure.  A  Conservative 
in  politics  and  a  man  of  refinement  and  literary  taste, 
he  had  many  friends  of  distinction  beyond  the  circle  of 
his  fellow-townsmen. 

The  Reelings  lived  in  a  comfortable  suburban  house, 
just  outside  Colchester.  It  was  near  the  main  road,  modern 
and  commonplace,  but  there  was  a  large  garden  at  the 
back  with  a  bit  of  open  woodland  beyond  it  where  the  boys 
could  enjoy  a  good  deal  of  freedom.  Frederic  had  very  few 
pleasant  recollections  of  his  boyhood,  which  seems  to  have 
been  a  time  of  constant  friction  and  revolt,  but  he  used 
to  talk  affectionately  of  the  garden  and  of  the  gardener, 
whom  he  regarded  as  a  lifelong  friend,  and  of  the  old 
walnut-tree  which  he  used  to  climb  for  "  the  best  walnuts 
in  the  world." 

His  childhood  was  not  a  happy  one.  Fate  made  a  strange 
blunder  when  she  placed  that  frank,  generous,  turbulent 
creature,  full  of  fierce  energ}^,  in  a  decorous  middle-class 
home  where  all  the  conventions  of  Victorian  propriety  were 
rigidly  observed.  Sunday  after  Sunday  he  would  follow 

1  Part  of  this  Memoir,  from  p.  14  to  p.  21,  is  written  by  a 
friend  to  whom  F.  H.  K.  was  much  attached. 

2  l 


2  KEELING  LETTERS 

his  mother  into  the  family  pew  with  a  glowering  counte- 
nance, not  unobserved  by  the  neighbours,  betraying  a  sub- 
mission that  was  not  only  unwilling  but  scornful.  A  mind 
so  active  and  a  temper  so  generous  and  so  subversive  needed 
no  outside  influence  to  make  it  rebel.  Socialism  came  to 
him  by  instinct  as  a  hatred  of  smug  comfort,  founded  on 
class  distinctions,  the  sort  of  comfort  that  depends  on  a 
well-drilled  staff  of  servants  in  an  underground  kitchen 
and  a  padded  carriage  with  a  fat  coachman  on  the  box. 

He  grew  up  strangely  out  of  sympathy  with  his  family, 
and  often  in  after  life  alluded  to  his  loneliness  as  a  boy  both 
at  home  and  at  school. 

Of  his  father  he  always  spoke  with  respect  and  affection, 
but  Mr.  Keeling  was  already  an  old  man  of  feeble  health 
when  Frederic  first  remembered  him.  They  cannot  have 
had  much  in  common  except  perhaps  a  taste  for  archaeology, 
which  seems  to  have  developed  very  early  in  the  boy,  for 
there  is  a  MS.  book,  dating  from  his  eleventh  year  and 
carefully  preserved  by  his  father,  which  contains  a  solemn 
treatise  "  On  Prehistoric  Man,"  together  with  various 
notes  and  a  few  poems  on  the  antiquities  of  Colchester.1 

Frederic  and  Guy  were  the  children  of  Mr.  Reeling's 
third  wife,  whom  he  married  when  he  was  sixty  and  she 
twenty-five,  his  earlier  marriages  having  been  childless. 
He  died  when  Frederic  was  fourteen,  and  Mrs.  Keeling, 
whose  health  had  suffered  much  during  her  husband's 
long  illness,  survived  him  only  three  years. 

The  boys,  left  orphans  when  the  elder  was  only  seventeen, 
were  singularly  free  from  ties  of  home  or  kin,  a  circumstance 
that  left  its  traces.  At  the  time  of  their  mother's  death 
they  were  both  at  Winchester,  but  Frederic  left  school 
the  same  year.  He  had  worked  hard  there  and  had  taken 
a  good  place  in  the  Sixth.  He  was  not  popular  and  disliked 
games,  but  he  made  his  mark  in  the  school.  He  thought 
for  himself,  was  already  a  Socialist  and  by  no  means  timid 
in  making  his  views  known  and  felt. 

The  following  notes,  kindly  contributed  by  the  late  Head 

1  Guy  tells  me  that  his  brother  wrote  letters  to  the  local  papers 
when  he  was  eleven,  but  I  have  failed  to  discover  what  they  dealt 
with.— E.  T. 


MEMOIR  3 

Master  of  Winchester  and  by  Frederic's  House  Master, 
are  very  interesting  to  those  who  knew  and  loved  him  in 
later  years.  They  throw  light  on  that  sense  of  isolation 
at  school  of  which  he  retained  such  a  vivid  and  probably 
exaggerated  recollection,  and  at  the  same  time  they  prove 
that  to  the  observing  eye  his  sterling  qualities  of  mind  and 
character  were  already  apparent.  Many  of  his  most  marked 
characteristics  in  after  life  are  to  be  found  in  the  picture 
— a  profound  respect  for  what  he  considered  rightful 
authority  and  an  enthusiasm  for  organization,  combined 
strangely  with  a  rebellious  temperament  and  a  fierce  hatred 
of  compromise  and  conventionality. 

REMINISCENCES   OF   F.  H.  K.   AT    SCHOOL. 

I.  BY  DR.   BURGE,    BISHOP   OF    SOUTHWARK,    FORMERLY 
HEAD  MASTER  OF  WINCHESTER. 

I  value  very  greatly  the  opportunity  of  writing  some  few 
impressions  of  Fred  Keeling  as  I  knew  him  and  watched 
his  development  at  school.  But  it  is  very  difficult  to  do 
this  without  exaggerating  the  difficulties  with  which  a 
nature  like  his  had  to  contend  and  those  with  which  we 
had  to  contend  in  helping  and  not  hurting  it.  It  is  a  mis- 
take to  dwell  too  much  on  words  like  "  unpopularity," 
"  resentment  against  Public  School  conventions,"  "  against 
the  tyranny  of  Winchester  notions,"  and  the  like,  a  mistake 
because  it  would  give  the  impression  of  an  intractable, 
self-centred  prig.  There  was  nothing  of  that  in  Fred  ; 
with  him  the  question  of  popular  or  unpopular  was  never 
raised ;  with  him  school  conventions  never  seemed  to 
count.  His  was  a  perfectly  natural,  fearless  instinct  for 
what  was  true  and  right  and  straightforward  and  just. 
But  he  was  also  vehement  and  emphatic,  and  it  is  easy 
enough  to  imagine  that  such  a  spirit  forms  very  decided 
opinions  with  a  very  insufficient  supply  of  knowledge  and 
experience.  Yet  he  was  not  intractable  :  he  was  always 
ready  to  learn,  to  be  informed  ;  indeed,  his  desire  to  accumu- 
late information  was  insatiable  and  needed  some  careful 
adjustment.  It  was,  rather,  a  somewhat  remarkable 
instance  of  a  mind  reaching  the  stage  of  independent 


4  KEELING  LETTERS 

inquiry  and  impatience  of  authoritative  opinion  at  an 
unusually  early  age.  Many  more  such  instances  would  be 
found,  I  expect,  among  boys  who  go  out  into  the  world 
earlier  than  our  Public  School  boys. 

But  there  was  something  much  more  substantial  than  all 
that  in  Fred's  development  and  character.  He  was  an 
indefatigable  worker.  He  used  to  come  to  me  for  a  list  of 
books  to  read  on  some  subject  he  was  exploring.  It  would 
have  been  quite  fatal  to  reel  off  a  list :  he  would  have 
set  himself  to  devour  the  whole  of  it  without  delay,  would 
have  suffered  from  violent  indigestion  and  have  proved 
a  most  difficult  patient  to  pacify.  But  he  was  perfectly 
ready  to  work  under  some  direction,  and  there  would  never 
be  a  doubt  of  the  thoroughness  and  strength  that  were 
put  into  the  work. 

I  like  to  recall  one  way  in  which  this  spirit  of  thoroughness 
grew  with  his  growth.  He  developed  very  early  a  keen 
interest  in  social  and  political  questions.  Of  course  he 
flew  to  extremes.  That  is  the  privilege  of  youth  with  its 
glorious  emphasis.  Yet  he  soon  began  to  discover  that 
to  form  sound  opinions  on  political  and  social  questions 
there  must  be  some  considerable  knowledge  of  facts  ;  so 
he  set  himself  to  master  the  history  of  his  country  ;  then 
he  found  it  impossible  to  do  that  without  understanding  the 
history  of  other  countries.  For  the  study  of  history,  he 
found  he  must  possess  or  train  a  good  memory  ;  I  do  not 
think  he  had  naturally  a  retentive  memory,  but  he  deliber- 
ately set  himself  to  train  it.  This  represents  not  unfairly 
the  stage  of  intellectual  power  he  had  reached  when  he  left 
school  :  no  real  literary  instinct  or  interest  in  literature 
as  such,  but  a  considerable,  thorough  knowledge  of  history, 
which  was  much  more  than  a  mere  storing  of  facts, 
because  of  his  living  interest  in  politics  and  social  questions 
and  his  deep  sense  of  duty  to  understand  them.  Then  his 
success  in  winning  a  scholarship  at  Trinity,  Cambridge, 
his  visit  to  Germany,  and  his  natural  development  brought 
out  the  ambition,  always  present,  to  go  deeper,  to  study 
first  principles  and  the  reasons  of  things.  So  it  became 
his  desire,  as  he  often  used  to  say  to  me,  to  get  on  to  the 
Moral  Science  Tripos. 


MEMOIR  5 

Through  all  this  there  runs,  what  was  most  typical  of 
Fred's  nature,  an  inflexible  sense  of  duty.  This  came  out 
very  strongly  when  I  was  first  brought  into  intimate  rela- 
tions with  him  during  his  preparation  for  Confirmation. 
After  much  talk  and  searchings  of  heart,  he  decided  to 
postpone  the  rite  and  he  was  confirmed  a  year  later. 
The  same  characteristic  became,  of  course,  more  clearly 
marked  as  his  position  in  the  school  gave  him  greater 
responsibility. 

As  time  went  on  and  his  character  took  more  definite 
shape,  he  became  more  aware  of  his  limitations  and  was  more 
and  more  generous  in  his  judgments  upon  others  without 
abating  one  jot  of  his  own  decision.  He  gradually  came 
to  be  better  understood  :  without  any  question  he  won 
the  respect  and  confidence  of  his  fellow-prefects  and  worked 
well  with  them. 

I  have  turned  back  to  the  pages  of  the  book  in  which  the 
prefects  that  I  made  inscribed  their  names.  Of  those  who 
signed  with  Fred  in  the  autumn  of  1902  one-third  have 
given  themselves,  as  he  gave  himself,  to  the  one  cause 
that  claimed  and  united  them,  and  all  the  rest  save  two, 
who  died  earlier,  are  serving  in  the  forces — just  as  really  he 
was  one  with  them  in  the  spirit  of  loyalty  and  service  at 
school. 

Was  Fred  happy  at  school  ?  I  do  not  believe  the  question 
would  have  conveyed  much  meaning  to  him.  Life  to  him 
never  seemed  to  be  a  question  of  happiness  or  unhappiness, 
unless  he  interpreted  it  in  the  light  of  St.  James's  definition  : 
"  Happy  is  the  man  that  can  stand  the  ordeal  of  living, 
for,  tested  and  found  to  ring  true,  he  shall  receive  the  crown 
of  life,  a  character  of  true  manhood."  Life  and  duty  and 
work  were  to  him  grim  and  solemn  things' because  he  was 
unusually  and  deeply  sensitive  to  the  inequalities  and  shams 
and  shames  which  disfigure  human  society,  and  with  such 
enemies  he  could  never  make  peace. 

I  was  greatly  attached  to  him  :  I  valued  his  friendship 
and  his  confidences  :  his  death  is  a  grievous  loss  of  fine 
ability  and  noble  qualities  to  the  cause  of  social  regeneration, 
which  he  had  so  much  at  heart. 


6  KEELING  LETTERS 

II. — BY    MR.    FORT,    HOUSE    MASTER    AT    WINCHESTER 
COLLEGE,  1899-1911. 

F.  H.  Keeling  was  intellectually  the  most  honest  and 
sincere  of  all  boys  whom  I  have  ever  known,  and  he  was 
one  of  the  most  persistent.  Public  School  life  did  not  come 
easily  to  him,  for  he  was  not  anything  of  an  athlete,  he  was 
a  slow  and  laborious  worker  in  all  classical  subjects,  he 
was  outspoken  as  to  all  his  opinions,  and  he  did  not  know 
the  meaning  of  the  word  "  compromise."  At  first  he  was 
not  popular  in  the  House,  chiefly  because  of  the  last  two 
characteristics,  because  in  spite  of  his  persistence  he  could 
never  "pass"  in  swimming,  because  he  insisted  on  working 
as  many  hours  a  day  as  he  chose  and  then  would  not  hand 
on  the  translation  of  a  passage  which  he  had  mastered  by 
his  own  hard  work.  It  happened  that,  though  it  was  before 
the  days  of  the  O.T.C.,  the  leaders  in  the  House  were 
eager  to  have  as  many  members  of  the  House  as  possible 
in  the  Winchester  College  Volunteer  Corps,  and  Keeling 
refused  to  join  the  Corps  for  two  terms  in  which  he  was 
the  only  boy  in  the  House  in  that  position. 

Perhaps  I  was  his  best  friend  at  Winchester  in  those 
eaily  days,  though  later  on  Dr.  Burge  understood  his  work 
as  well  as  I  did.  I  remember  two  characteristic  incidents 
of  his  third  year  in  the  school :  one  that  he  refused  on 
conscientious  grounds  to  be  confirmed,  though  he  was 
satisfied  on  the  point  in  the  next  year ;  and  the  other  that 
on  one  occasion  he  formed  a  combination  of  boys,  who 
were  not  prefects,  in  order  to  put  a  stop  to  certain  practices 
which  needed  stopping. 

After  his  first  two  years  at  Winchester  his  position  altered 
greatly,  as  his  remarkable  capacity  for  the  study  of  history 
told  more  and  more,  and  most  boys  began  to  understand 
him,  while  all  respected  him ;  my  difficulties  then  were  rather 
to  extract  him  from  troublesome  situations  with  masters. 
In  one  case  he  considered  that  a  master  had  distrusted  him  ; 
in  another  he  found  himself  punished  with  a  whole  division, 
when  he  himself  was  not  in  fault  ;  on  that  occasion  he  had 
committed  a  flagrant  act  of  disobedience  and,  when  brought 
to  account  for  it,  said,  "  I  acted  as  I  did,  sir,  because  the 


MEMOIR  7 

punishment  was  unjust."  The  master,  who  behaved  with 
great  consideration,  gave  him  only  a  small  penalty  in 
writing,  but,  knowing  Reeling's  nature,  locked  him  into  the 
room  to  do  it.  He  finished  the  task  and  escaped  by  a  most 
difficult  route  through  the  window.  At  that  point  he  brought 
the  case  to  me ;  I  urged  him  to  apologize,  and  he  flatly 
refused  to  do  so.  Finally  I  induced  him  to  go  to  the  master, 
before  he  was  summoned,  and  say,  "  I  hope  there  was  no 
harm,  sir,  in  my  leaving  the  room  yesterday  when  I  had 
finished  my  imposition  "  ;  and  the  situation  was  saved. 

His  physical  appearance  was  most  deceptive,  for  he  had 
an  immense  memory  together  with  a  very  small  head,  and 
enormous  resolution  in  spite  of  a  retreating  chin.  He  was 
a  great  upholder  of  order,  though  he  accepted  no  rule 
without  an  examination  of  its  meaning  and  purpose,  and 
had  a  great  sense  of  responsibility  towards  the  community, 
especially  towards  the  weaker  members  of  it — he  was 
exceedingly  wise  and  kind  in  his  dealings  with  his  younger 
brother.  He  held  opinions  on  all  sorts  of  problems,  which 
generally  present  themselves  only  in  University  days,  and 
though  his  opinions  changed  or  rather  developed  very 
rapidly,  I  never  knew  him  hold  an  opinion  except  as  the 
result  of  considerable  thought ;  while  he  was  always  prepared 
to  carry  out  in  practice  all  that  his  opinions  logically 
demanded  of  him.  He  was  a  most  interesting  boy,  though 
many  would  have  considered  him  an  odd  one.  Thus  on 
one  occasion,  when  I  found  him  in  bed  with  influenza, 
and  said  something  enthusiastic  about  what  women  do 
for  men,  this  strange  head  on  the  pillow  replied,  "  Well, 
they're  paid  for  it  "  ;  and  on  two  occasions,  though  he 
was  ordinarily  a  pattern  of  respectability  and  orderliness, 
he  just  went  mad — one  was  5th  November  and  the  other 
Mafeking  Day. 

When  he  became  head  of  the  House,  he  was  invaluable 
to  me  and  his  influence  was  of  the  very  highest  value  to 
Winchester ;  many  changes  were  needed  in  a  House 
which  had,  owing  to  special  circumstances,  lived  a  very 
isolated  life  for  thirty  years,  and  Keeling  carried  them 
through  with  great  wisdom  and  energy,  being  far  more 
face  to  face  with  the  difficulties  and  with  the  incon- 


8  KEELING  LETTERS 

veniences  of  the  position  than  I  was.  I  always  considered 
that  the  later  prosperity  of  B  House  was  mainly  due  to 
what  we  planned  and  he  executed  in  1903-4. 

In  his  last  term  of  all  he  determined  to  attempt  what  he 
knew  would  involve  him  in  great  unpopularity,  viz.  putting 
an  end  to  the  use  of  "  Englishes  "  throughout  the  school ; 
he  induced  the  other  prefects  to  join  him  in  collecting  all 
"  Englishes  "  in  B  House  and  then  took  the  matter  up 
to  the  Head  Master. 

I  have  never  met  any  one  who  seemed  to  strive  more 
earnestly  to  find  out  the  truth  or  to  follow  more  uncom- 
promisingly the  truth  as  he  saw  it. 


In  October,  1904,  he  entered  Trinity  as  a  Major  scholar. 
He  always  loved  Cambridge,  and  used  to  contrast  his  four 
happy  years  there  with  his  uncongenial  life  at  school.  The 
change  was  indeed  enormous  ;  he  found  himself  surrounded 
for  the  first  time  by  kindred  spirits  and  free  to  plunge  into 
a  stream  of  just  the  kind  of  activity  that  he  loved.  His 
revolutionary  views,  instead  of  being  a  barrier  that  shut 
him  out  from  fellowship  with  his  neighbours,  became  all 
at  once  a  bond  of  union,  and  he  was  soon  the  centre  of  a 
band  of  enterprising  spirits  whose  companionship  gave 
him  the  first  great  happiness  of  his  life. 

In  default  of  letters  written  at  this  period,  I  will  quote 
from  an  account  of  the  rebirth  of  the  Cambridge  University 
Fabian  Society  which  he  wrote  in  1913. 

CAMBRIDGE  UNIVERSITY  FABIAN  SOCIETY.' 

PART  I.     1904-8. 

BY  F.  H.  K. 

When  I  went  up  in  October,  1904, 1  was  already  a  member 
of  the  parent  Society,  and  had  been  a  Socialist  for  some 
years.  Pease  gave  me  an  introduction  to  the  secretary  of 
the  town  Fabian  Society  of  that  day,  which  had  a  nominal 
membership  of  six.  I  attended  the  last  meeting  of  that 

1  Cambridge  University  Magazine,  October,   1913. 


MEMOIR  9 

body  in  October,  1904,  along  with  another  freshman, 
W.  T.  Layton,  whom  I  persuaded  to  come  with  me,  although 
he  protested  his  fidelity  to  sound  economic  truth.  The 
meeting  was  not  enlivening.  The  five  persons  who  were 
present  (including  Layton  and  myself)  sat  on  disused 
grocery  cases  in  an  attic  above  a  milk  shop  in  Bridge  Street. 
I  remember  that  one  of  the  members  smoked  a  pipe  which 
did  not  turn  up  into  a  bowl  at  the  end,  but  opened  out  like 
a  sort  of  megaphone  and  exuded  a  steady  dribble  of  tobacco 
ash  over  its  owner's  trousers.  I  wondered  if  that  was  a 
specifically  Fabian  pipe. 

The  only  other  Fabian  undergraduate  in  the  University 
was  Pearsall,  whose  family  is  of  Garden  City  fame.  I 
called  on  him  and  found  him  willing  to  help  in  starting" 
a  Society  if  any  other  members  could  be  obtained.  But 
the  only  piece  of  propaganda  which  I  was  able  to  achieve 
during  the  year  consisted  of  a  speech  in  favour  of  the 
Labour  Party  at  the  Union.  (That  was  before  the  1906 
election,  and  was  generally  considered  outrageous.) 

The  real  father  of  the  C.U.F.S.  is  "  Dicky  "  Coit,  who 
came  up  to  King's  in  1905,  and  is  eminently  suited  by  reason 
of  his  benign  character  for  parentage  of  every  kind.  I 
had  never  seen  or  heard  of  him  till  he  came  to  call  on  me 
in  the  Lent  term  of  1906,  to  ask  me  to  help  him  to  get  up 
a  Fabian  meeting  to  be  addressed  by  Dr.  Haden  Guest. 
Amber  Reeves  (now  Mrs.  G.  R.  Bianco-White)  arranged 
with  Coit  to  bring  a  number  of  Newnhamites.  I  shall  never 
forget  that  meeting  in  the  Chetwynd  Lecture  Room.  There 
was  a  pretty  good  audience.  I  was  so  obsessed  with  anxiety 
about  the  best  way  of  approaching  the  strangers  present 
for  the  purpose  of  forming  a  Society  that  I  could  never 
remember  subsequently  a  single  thing  that  Dr.  Guest  said. 
However,  a  small  group  of  people  stopped  afterwards  and 
agreed  to  form  a  Society,  of  which  J.  C.  Squire  was  appointed 
secretary. 

The  relative  novelty  of  the  Socialist  movement  in  1906 
and  1907  made  the  whole  position  in  Cambridge  rather 
different  from  what  I  imagine  it  at  the  present  moment. 
I  daresay  in  most  ways  it  made  propaganda  easier.  We 
certainly  did  make  Socialists  of  some  people  who  might  not 


10  KEELING  LETTERS 

otherwise  have  found  their  way  in  that  direction.  The 
most  prominent  London  Fabians  were  generous  in  helping 
us.  During  the  last  two  and  a  half  years  of  my  connection 
with  the  Society  Webb,  and  Mrs.  Webb,  Shaw,  Wells, 
Granville  Barker,  Olivier,  Pease,  Keir  Hardie,  Pete  Curran, 
and  Dr.  Sudekum  (of  the  Reichstag)  all  addressed  meetings 
for  us.  Jovial  feasts,  attended  by  any  number  up  to  thirty 
people,  and  subsequent  "  squashes,"  became  a  feature  of 
the  evenings  when  there  were  meetings.  The  joint  meetings 
with  Oxford  Fabians  were  also  good  fun. 

The  four  most  important  affairs  in  the  history  of  the 
Society  in  my  day  were  the  Feminist  Question,  the  Con- 
stitutional Question,  the  Keir  Hardie  meeting,  and  the  first 
attempt  to  strengthen  the  Labour  movement  in  the  town. 
We  were  the  first  Society  in  the  University — with  the 
possible  exception  of  a  couple  of  science  clubs — to  admit 
women  as  members.  We  were  all  keen  Feminists.  I 
would  not  go  the  length  of  allowing  myself  to  be  persuaded 
by  a  lady,  who  shall  be  nameless,  to  obtain  tickets  under 
false  pretences  for  a  Liberal  meeting  to  be  addressed  by 
Haldane,  in  order  to  enable  Mrs.  Drummond  and  her 
friends  to  break  it  up.  But  I  did  stand  on  a  barrow  outside 
the  Guildhall  and  assist  Mrs.  Drummond  to  hold  a  meeting 
in  the  rain. 

After  the  presidency  of  V.  H.  Mottram  we  decided  to 
elect  a  woman  as  president,  to  assert  the  principles  of 
female  equality  as  aggressively  as  possible.  Two  Newn- 
hamites  were  nominated  in  order  that  we  might  have  the 
fun  of  an  election.  When  they  were  ordered  to  stand 
down  by  their  college  authorities,  Edith  Moggridge,  of 
Girton,  was  surreptitiously  communicated  with,  put  up, 
and  elected.  But  she  was  never  allowed  by  her  college 
authorities  to  take  the  chair  at  a  meeting.  The  position 
was  therefore  left  vacant  for  a  term  by  way  of  protest, 
and  ever  since  the  Society  has  had  a  woman  treasurer, 
Mrs.  Bianco-White  being  the  first.  (Some  of  them  have 
kept  accounts,  which  was  more  than  one  of  the  two  male 
treasurers  did.)  No  doubt  it  was  all  very  childish.  But 
Cambridge  and  life  generally  have  been  very  different 
experiences  for  me  owing  to  the  fact  that  women  were 


MEMOIR  11 

admitted  to  the  C.U.F.S.  I  only  hope  that  others  feel 
that  it  was  a  small  shove  worth  making,  and,  above  all, 
that  the  lady  who  from  that  day  to  this  has  shepherded 
the  Newnham  flock  in  and  out  of  meetings,  who  alone 
knows  the  whole  history  of  the  C.U.F.S.,  and  who  has 
lived  through  the  preaching  of  Socialism  to  three  genera- 
tions of  undergraduates,  does  not  always  regret  the  job 
she  undertook. 

The  true  history  of  the  Keir  Hardie  meeting  is  this. 
We  took  the  Guildhall  for  the  meeting  in  conjunction  with 
a  small  ad  hoc  committee  of  trade  unionists  and  I.L.P.-ers. 
My  bed-maker,  who  was,  and  is,  one  of  the  greatest  women 
on  God's  earth,  told  me  a  few  days  before  the  meeting 
that  a  gang  of  miserable  rowing  men  had  concocted  a  plot 
in  the  rooms  at  the  bottom  of  my  staircase  to  screw  up 
Keir  Hardie  in  my  rooms  while  we  had  dinner.  We  there- 
fore ordered  a  dinner  ostentatiously  for  Keir  Hardie  at 
the  college  kitchens,  and  talked  everywhere  of  his  coming 
(by  a  wrong  train),  meanwhile  secretly  arranging  that  he 
should  be  met  and  taken  to  King's.  On  the  afternoon 
of  the  meeting  Mottram  went  to  a  theatrical  costumier's 
and  was  made  up  as  Keir  Hardie — hat,  grey  beard  and 
hair  (alas  !  Tram's  hair  is  naturally  grey  now),  red  tie, 
etc.  I  drove  up  with  him  in  a  hansom  to  the  Great  Gate, 
and  was  met  by  a  number  of  Fabians,  who  shook  hands 
with  the  great  man.  We  made  our  way  across  the  court 
amidst  howls  of  a  few  hundred  rowing  men  from  various 
colleges  and  our  other  normal  enemies.  I  then  bolted  to 
the  Guildhall,  where  we  had  got  a  hundred  trade  unionists 
to  help  us  to  hold  the  platform  against  the  mob  of  under- 
graduates. Meanwhile  Mottram,  Hubback,  and  Gomme 
kept  up  the  fiction  of  a  great  feast  in  my  rooms.  The  doors 
were  screwed  up,  and  a  few  hundred  undergraduates  howled 
with  joy  in  the  court.  At  about  eight  o'clock  Hubback 
let  down  a  mountaineering  rope  into  Trinity  Lane  (the 
rooms  were  on  the  second  floor),  and  they  all  went  down  it, 
leaving  the  lights  on.  It  took  the  mob  about  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  to  discover  what  had  happened.  Then  they 
climbed  on  the  roof,  broke  the  windows,  and  departed. 
Meanwhile  the  Guildhall  was  being  wrecked.  A  few  score 


12  KEELING  LETTERS 

benches  and  some  windows  were  broken  (the  damage  cost 
us  altogether  £40),  and  there  were  the  usual  accompaniments 
of  eggs  and  other  missiles.  We  kept  the  mob  back  by 
drawing  benches  across  the  gangway,  and  Keir  Hardie 
was  eventually  smuggled  into  King's.  The  mob  only 
smashed  a  cab  in  which  he  was  supposed  to  be.  Three 
weeks  later  all  the  Trinity  rowing  men  marched  round  the 
Great  Court  for  an  evening  to  the  tune  of  "  We'll  Wash  Ben 
Keeling."  We  were  again  forewarned,  and  covered  the 
staircase  with  margarine,  protected  the  doors  and  windows 
by  barbed  wire,  which  could  be  electrified  by  pressing  a 
button,  and  laid  in  a  fine  stock  of  coal  and  water.  But  the 
mob  was  not  drunk  enough  to  attack  the  Dean  and  four 
porters  who  walked  up  and  down  at  the  bottom  of  the 
staircase  all  the  evening,  though  we  thirsted  for  battle. 

As  to  our  effort  on  behalf  of  the  I.L.P.  with  good  old 
Secretary  Comrade  Pindar,  and  the  development  of  the 
Keir  Hardie  Meeting  Trade  Unionist  Committee  into  a 
Labour  Representation  Committee,  we  did  our  best,  but 
have  been  so  far  outshone  by  later  generations  that  there 
is  no  need  to  talk  of  it.  It  was  hard  work  to  keep  that 
L.R.C.  going.  Still,  I  am  glad  we  did,  if  only  for  the  good 
friends  I  made  there. 

Hugh  Dalton  abandoned  Tariff  Reform  for  Fabianism 
in  the  second  year  of  the  Society's  existence,  became  its 
secretary,  and  succeeded  me  as  president  when  I  went 
down  in  1908. 

WTriting  this  has  made  me  feel  for  the  first  time  in  my  life 
a  wish  that  I  could  live  again  through  all  the  crudities  of 
those  Cambridge  undergraduate  days.  I  will  blush  for 
nothing.  It  was  a  past  worth  living  in — not  merely  to 
be  lived  through.  If  a  Fabian  friend  or  enemy  of  those 
days — man  or  woman — sees  this,  let  him  know  that  in 
my  soul  I  have  this  moment  drained  yet  another  quart 
to  him  from  the  big  blue  mug.  We  were  at  least  fools  or 
quarrelsome  together — if  he  will  have  it  so.  Prosit ! 
The  Cause  ! 


MEMOIR  13 

The  following  extracts  from  letters  to  his  brother,  written 
in  the  autumn  term  of  1906,  carry  on  the  story  of  Fabian 
activities. 

TRINITY  COLLEGE,  CAMBRIDGE. 
Autumn,  1906. 

We  (the  C.U.  Fabian  Society)  had  a  public  meeting  in 
sympathy  with  the  Russian  Revolution  the  other  day. 
About  170  persons  were  present.  I  was  in  the  chair, 
supported  by  Madame  Kropotkin  (the  wife  of  the  great 
anarchist),  an  ex-president  of  the  C.U.  Liberal  Club,  the  new 
Secretary  of  the  Union  who  beat  me  in  the  recent  election 
and  who  is  a  great  Tory  Democrat,  and  the  girl  who  is 
the  most  prominent  Newnham  member  of  our  Society. 
We  passed  a  resolution  which  is  to  be  sent  to  the  leader 
of  the  Labour  Party  in  the  late  Duma  and  to  several 
democratic  papers  in  Petersburg — if  there  are  any  left 
which  have  not  yet  been  suppressed  by  that  bloody 
Russian  Government.  .  .  . 

TRINITY  COLLEGE,  CAMBRIDGE. 
November,   1906. 

Sorry  I  have  not  written  for  so  long.  I  am  awfully  busy 
till  the  end  of  next  week.  I  shall  probably  go  off  to  Vienna 
about  the  middle  of  December.  I  will  certainly  come  down 
to  Copthill  for  a  day  or  so  just  before  I  go,  and  shall  call  at 
home  for  a  similar  period  on  my  return  here.  I  go  up  to 
Liverpool  next  Friday. 

Am  proposing  a  motion  condemning  the  present  Govern- 
ment. I  shall  attack  them  for  playing  the  fool  with 
education,  and  making  asses  of  themselves  over  Trades 
Disputes  Bill,  also  for  messing  about  Plural  Voting  when 
they  should  be  giving  Woman  Suffrage,  Unemployed  Act 
and  Feeding  of  School  Children.  Mrs.  Philip  Snowden 
was  down  here  yesterday  speaking  for  the  Fabian  Society 
on  the  Woman  question.  Forty-eight  people  were  present 
at  the  meeting  in  my  rooms.  I  gave  a  Socialist  dinner  to 
six  men,  Mrs.  Snowden,  and  one  Newnham  girl  afterwards, 
not  an  oligarchal  complicated  feed,  but  beef,  beer,  rice,  and 
cheese.  (Of  course  there  was  wine  for  the  ladies,  who  can't 


14  KEELING  LETTERS 

be  expected  to  take  beer.)  .  .  .  The  Fabian  Society  now 
numbers  sixty.  There  was  an  account  of  our  last  meeting 
in  to-day's  Tribune. 

December,  1906. 

...  I  had  a  very  good  time  at  Liverpool.  Since  then 
I  have  been  defeated  by  13  votes,  157  to  144,  at  my 
last  shot  for  office  at  the  Union.  It  was  rather  rot  to  come 
so  near  and  to  lose.  But  of  course  a  man  who  takes  up  an 
attitude  like  mine  does  not  expect  to  receive  conventional 
honours.  The  retiring  President  told  me  that  I  should 
probably  have  got  in  had  I  not  made  a  somewhat  outspoken 
attack  on  the  "  sport  "  of  the  King  and  aristocracy  just 
before  the  election.  He  and  all  the  other  officers  were 
strongly  in  favour  of  my  candidature,  though  none  of  them 
agreed  with  my  views. 

I  have  been  very  busy  with  Socialist  politics  lately.  A 
lot  of  Cambridge  Socialists,  including  two  girls,  went  up 
to  town  last  Friday  to  take  part  in  a  meeting  of  the  London 
Fabian  Society,  where  H.  G.  Wells  was  advocating  that 
middle  and  upper  class  Socialists  should  throw  in  their 
lot  with  the  Labour  Party.  I  am  all  for  this  policy.  .  .  . 

The  following  letter  from  Vienna  is  characteristic  of 
him  in  several  ways  : — 

VIENNA.     December,  1906. 

I  said  I  could  not  think  of  anything  I  wanted  for  Christmas, 
but  I  should  like  to  revoke  that  remark  and  should  be  humbly 
grateful  if  you  would  send  me  a  book  by  Bernard  Shaw 
called  "  The  Perfect  Wagnerite."  I  shall  be  going  to  a 
lot  of  operas  during  my  stay  here,  and  I  want  to  get  to  know 
something  about  musical  criticism.  I  went  to  the  opera 
last  night  with  an  American  and  a  Polish  girl  and  enjoyed 
it  hugely.  It  is  still  snowing  here.  The  streets  are  magni- 
ficent at  night  with  the  lamps  shining  over  the  snow.  .  .  . 

In  spite  of  some  appearances  to  the  contrary,  "  Ben  " 
Keeling  had  a  genuine  belief  in  Art.  He  hated  anything 
which  he  suspected  of  dilettantism  or  sentimentality,  and 


MEMOIR  15 

he  sometimes  humorously  exaggerated  this  antipathy 
for  the  benefit  of  his  artistic  friends.  They  knew  to  take 
it  in  good  part,  and  to  accept  the  label  "  bloody  aesthete  " 
as  a  mark  of  gruff  appreciation.  He  measured  art  by  life, 
and  disliked  the  purely  imaginative.  Once  when  he  and 
a  well-intentioned  but  very  uninstructed  fellow-Fabian 
were  passing  along  the  cloisters  of  Neville's  Court  on  their 
way  back  from  a  meeting,  they  paused  to  look  out  through 
the  screen  at  the  wonderfully  still,  unearthly  splendour  of 
the  frosted  moonlit  "  Backs,"  and  Keeling  burst  out  into 
an  exclamation  of  delight.  "  Yes,"  said  the  other  man,  who 
had  spent  the  preceding  hour  or  so  in  hopeless  attempts 
to  follow  a  discussion  far  beyond  him,  and  was  now  much 
relieved  to  get  back  to  something  that  seemed  common 
ground — "yes,  this  is  what  /  like — dreams."  Keeling 
was  offended  instantly.  "  I  don't,"  he  said,  and  turning 
on  his  heel,  made  off. 

He  valued  art  for  the  ideas  in  it,  and  any  branch  of  it 
that  he  approached  was  always  tackled  as  a  study,  conscien- 
tiously and  with  an  effort  of  the  brain.  This  does  not  mean 
that  it  was  not  enjoyed  ;  indeed,  for  anyone  with  Keeling's 
"  jovial  "  vein,  that  could  hardly  have  been  possible.  On 
his  return  to  Cambridge  in  the  Lent  Term  of  1907,  he  spoke 
with  great  enthusiasm  of  the  music  he  had  heard.  Wagner 
he  thought  glorious,  and  gave  a  glowing  description  of  the 
broad,  rich,  flooding  river-music  in  the  overture  to 
"  Rheingold." 

It  was  characteristic  of  him  that  his  favourite  play  of 
Shakespeare  was  "  The  Tempest,"  because  it  was  the  most 
philosophical. 

With  this  continental  tour  is  to  be  connected  a  story 
which  he  often  told  against  himself  with  full  appreciation 
of  the  point.  One  of  the  best  things  about  him  in  his 
undergraduate  days  was  the  spontaneous  freshness  and 
camaraderie  of  his  relations  with  his  numerous  women 
friends,  at  an  age  when  many  men  have  not  quite  rid  them- 
selves of  all  the  awkwardness  of  boyhood.  He  was  not 
merely  frank  but  kind,  would  go  long  walks  and  talk  with 
them  of  their  careers  or  intellectual  ambitions,  and  that 
not  with  attention  only,  but  with  help.  His  manner  was 


16  KEELING  LETTERS 

every  bit  as  natural  with  women  as  with  men,  and  even  his 
vocabulary  was  only  a  very  little  different.  The  last 
evening  of  this  holiday  he  had  been  having  supper  with 
two  ladies  whom  he  had  met  abroad  and  liked ;  pressed 
for  time,  but  ravenous,  he  descended  on  a  piece  of  bread 
which  happened  to  have  been  left  half-eaten  by  his  neigh- 
bour. She  said  so,  and  began  to  cut  another  for  him. 
"  Boh  !  "  roared  Ben  scornfully,  "  /  don't  mind  your  bite  !  " 
The  ladies  looked  at  one  another,  and  then  broke  into  peals 
of  delighted  laughter.  Keeling,  however,  was  not  aware 
of  having  made  a  joke,  and  at  once  demanded  (his  mouth 
full  of  bread)  what  the  devil  they  were  grinning  at.  "  Oh, 
Mr.  Keeling  !  "  cried  one  of  them,  "  that's  the  nearest  yet 
we've  ever  heard  you  come  to  paying  a  compliment !  " 
Whereupon  Keeling  gradually  began  to  laugh. 

Laughter — real  high-spirited,  elemental,  joyous  laughter 
— was  seldom  very  far  from  Keeling  in  those  days.  In 
his  ideals,  certainly,  he  was  most  desperately  serious  ;  serious 
in  his  aims  and  studies,  serious  in  his  attitude  to  human 
life  in  general ;  even  liable  at  intervals  to  intense  depression  ; 
but  for  all  that,  he  could  laugh.  Often  enough  it  would 
begin  involuntarily  ;  in  the  midst  of  the  most  earnest 
colloquy  on  the  nature  of  the  universe  a  remark  of  some- 
body's would  strike  his  sense  of  humour,  and  he  would  give 
vent  to  one  or  two  reluctant  hoarse  guffaws,  then  all  at 
once  would  roar  aloud  with  boisterous  amusement. 

There  can  hardly  have  been  many  other  men  who  have 
become  equally  notorious  in  their  University  so  soon.  Even 
a  rowing  or  a  football  Blue  is  not  quite  known  by  name  to 
everybody  ;  but  in  1907  every  undergraduate  had  heard 
of  Keeling,  and  even  a  good  many  Dons.  By  those  who 
knew  no  more  about  him  than  his  name  (which  stood  of 
course  for  Socialism)  he  was  naturally  for  the  most  part 
execrated  ;  but  there  may  have  been  some  small  proportion 
even  of  these  who  did  at  least  admire  his  obvious  courage. 
At  any  rate,  one  night  when  some  half-dozen  friends  of  his 
were  in  his  rooms,  and  beer  and  whisky  were  being  circulated 
along  with  such  philosophizing  as  may  best  accompany 
them,  several  half-drunk  undergraduates  in  the  court  below 
suddenly  interrupted  these  proceedings  with  an  abusive 


MEMOIR  IT 

serenade.  A  council  of  war  being  held,  and  an  attack  in 
force  decided  on,  all  sallied  forth  with  pokers,  tongs,  and 
soda-syphons  ;  but  the  enemy  behaved  most  handsomely, 
apologized,  and  to  the  surprise  of  all,  sang  Reeling's  praises. 
"  We  don't  want  to  fight  with  you,  you're  a  damned  fine 
fellow  even  though  you  are  a  Socialist ;  we  know  quite  well 
you've  got  a  lot  of  pluck  " — or  sounds  to  that  effect.  Ben 
was  strangely  moved  by  this  quite  unexpected  tribute 
from  total  strangers  only  a  little  more  intoxicated  than 
himself  ;  he  stood  there  guffawing  awkwardly,  until,  over- 
come with  modesty,  he  retreated  up  the  staircase,  and  was 
then  left  in  peace. 

The  first  trait  in  Reeling's  character  to  strike  any  one 
who  had  just  met  him  was  almost  always  his  amazing 
energy.  He  loved  to  walk  and  talk  with  other  men,  and 
did  both  together  at  a  tremendous  pace.  Like  Socrates, 
he  cared  mainly  for  the  argument,  with  the  result  that, 
unlike  almost  all  other  voluble  conversers,  he  was  a  ready 
and  attentive  listener.  The  potations  of  that  Greek  phil- 
osopher (limited  to  convivial  occasions)  did  not  impair 
his  health  or  his  intelligence,  and  here  also  the  resemblance 
holds.  Though  not  of  powerful  build  (the  muscles  of  his 
arms  at  least  were  under  average,  by  his  own  account),  he 
liked  physical  exertion,  disdained  porterage  of  all  kinds, 
and  fairly  revelled  in  a  swim.  Few  people  ever  saw  him 
tired,  and  certainly  no  one  ever  saw  him  slack.  He  could 
sit  up  to  all  hours.  In  studying,  he  worked  not  so  much 
hard  perhaps  as  fiercely  ;  one  Cambridge  friend's  experience 
is  significant :  "  He  gave  me  the  use  of  his  own  room  to 
work  in  these  two  days,  but  I  could  not  read  a  sentence  ; 
not  that  he  interrupted  much  ;  he  worked — or  seemed 
to  do  so — a  good  deal ;  but  the  presence  of  his  restless 
personality  was  a  thing  I  simply  could  not  once  forget." 
He  believed  in  being  "  elemental,"  by  which  he  generally 
meant,  living  the  simple  life  and  living  it  uproariously.  A 
Trinity  man  of  detached  outlook  once  gave  something  like 
the  following  account  of  a  sleeping  party  he  had  come 
across  on  Reeling's  roof.  "  B—  -  is  elemental,  but  not 
democratic,  so  he  sleeps  beneath  the  stars,  but  with  a 
mattress  and  luxurious  rugs  ;  Reeling  is  democratic  and 

3 


18  KEELING  LETTERS 

elemental  too,  so  he  has  only  a  rough  blanket ;  X is 

democratic  but  not  elemental,  so  he  sleeps  on  the  floor  of 
Reeling's  room." 

Ben's  most  delightful  quality  in  those  days  was,  perhaps, 
his  untiring  hospitality.  His  rooms I  were  the  great 
meeting-place  for  everybody  who  had  at  the  same  time 
liberal  ideals  and  was  intellectually  keen.  There  they  might 
drink  and  smoke  at  almost  any  time,  and  discuss  the  universe 
ad  libitum.  As  but  one  instance  of  the  way  in  which  he 
broadened  other  men's  experiences,  reference  may  be  made 
to  the  case  of  a  certain  youth  of  ea.ger  intellectual  outlook 
who  was  very  poor  and  had  led  the  narrowest  life  imaginable 
in  the  most  drab  environment.  This  man  met  at  various 
times  in  Reeling's  rooms  Bernard  Shaw,  H.  G.  Wells, 
Granville  Barker,  Lilian  Macarthy,  Sidney  Webb,  several 
leading  members  of  the  Fabian  Society,  and  many  of  the 
most  interesting  undergraduates  of  the  day,  including 
E.  S.  Montagu  and  Rupert  Brooke.  All  visitors  who  came 
to  lecture  to  the  C.U.F.S.  were  entertained  to  dinner  in 
the  delightful  low-roofed  sitting-room,  with  its  fine  old 
beams,  its  wonderful  great  colour-print  just  visible  on 
the  shadowred  wall,  and  its  inviting  dark-stained  wooden 
settle  glowing  pleasantly  before  a  copious  fire.  The  well- 
laid  table  with  its  artistic  beer-mugs,  the  kindly  smile  of 
Mrs.  Coxall,  the  pervading  atmosphere  of  intellectual 
keenness  and  irrepressible  high  spirits,  and  most  of  all  the 
boundless  heartiness  of  Ben  himself,  combined  to  give  these 
banquets  an  exhilaration  all  their  own. 

No  account  of  Reeling's  Cambridge  life  could  be  complete 
without  some  mention  of  the  wonderful  relation  that  existed 
between  him  and  his  bed-maker.  Mrs  Coxall  was  one  of 
his  best  friends.  He  chaffed  her,  shouted  for  her,  argued 
with  her,  lent  her  books,  respected  her  enormously,  confided 
in  her  ;  she  in  her  turn  was  something  of  a  mother  to  him. 

Many  undergraduates  have  been  better  off  for  private 
means — though  Reeling  had  enough  to  give  free  scope  to  all 
his  interests  and  activities — but  few  can  have  been  more 
generous  with  what  they  had.  Among  other  things,  he 

1  In  staircase  "  O,"  Great  Court ;  but  since  the  reconstructions 
of  1910  these  rooms  are  entered  from  staircase  "  P." 


MEMOIR  19 

offered  to  finance  a  friend  of  his  during  a  whole  fourth  year 
at  Cambridge,  the  friend's  father  having  been  prevented 
by  financial  losses  from  continuing  his  education,  and 
Keeling  was  genuinely  disappointed  when  the  offer  was 
refused. 

The  "  Fish  and  Chimney  "  was  flourishing  about  this  time. 
It  was  a  club  of  some  dozen  members,  mostly  from  St. 
John's  and  Trinity,  who  met  at  varying  intervals  to  read 
old  or  modern  plays  ;  in  the  Michaelmas  Term  of  1906  it 
was  meeting  regularly  once  a  week.  Keeling  enjoyed  these 
functions  hugely ;  he  read  distinctly,  humorously,  and 
with  spirit.  In  distributing  the  parts  before  a  reading  of 
"  Macbeth,"  the  secretary  at  once  assigned  to  him  the 
part  of  Duncan,  for  no  better  reason  than  the  early  occur- 
rence in  it  of  his  favourite  expletive — a  democratic  one. 
"  What  bloody  man  is  that  ?  "  demanded  Ben  with  gusto  ; 
and  the  postman,  who  happened  to  have  entered  just  before, 
was  astonished  beyond  measure. 

Another  member  of  this  Club,  and  a  very  valued  friend 
of  Keeling's  Cambridge  days,  was  F.  W.  Hubback,  also  of 
Trinity,  who  died  of  wounds  in  France  on  12  February, 
1917. 

In  December,  1907,  he  went,  on  the  recommendation  of 
a  Scottish  friend,  to  Arran  for  a  holiday.  He  stayed  at 
Rose  Villa,  Cordon,  near  Lamlash,  and  among  other  things 
climbed  Goat  Fell.  He  was  very  fond  of  mountaineering 
always — not,  like  some  less  truly  "  elemental  "  people, 
only  when  it  happened  to  be  dangerous. 

To  J .  C.  Squire. 

ARRAN.    28  December,  1907. 

A  glorious  place,  on  a  large  bay  with  a  mountainous  island 
in  the  middle.  It  is  not  very  cold.  I  have  bathed  three 
times  since  I  have  been  here.  It  is  my  first  visit  to  Scotland. 
I  spent  a  day  in  Glasgow,  which  is  a  pretty  filthy  place. 
There  are,  however  some  glorious  Italian  and  Dutch  pictures 
in  the  Gallery,  though  it  would  be  improved  if  about  three- 
quarters  of  the  things  in  it  were  burnt. 

We  got  lost  on  the  hills  the  other  night  and  had  to  crawl 
down  a  long  glen  in  the  darkness,  feeling  every  step.  We 


20  KEELING  LETTERS 

discovered  afterwards  that  at  one  point  we  had  been  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  a  50-feet  waterfall.  .  .  . 

I  am  going  up  to  Cambridge  early  this  term.  I  have 
resolutely  refused  all  political  speaking  for  the  next  year 
and  am  going  to  grind  hard  till  the  end  .of  March.  ...  I 
expect  I  shall  spend  next  year  in  town  taking  bar  exams., 
and  doing  historical  research.  .  .  .  Have  just  finished  an 
awfully  interesting  little  book  by  Webb  on  London  Educa- 
tion. It  really  gives  one  a  very  good  idea  of  the  enormous 
amount  of  educational  machinery  at  work  of  which  I  at 
least  was  almost  entirely  ignorant.  The  Polytechnics  are 
apparently  wonderful  educational  forces.  Do  you  remember 
John  Tanner  and  'Enery  Straker's  conversation  on  the 
Polytechnics  in  "  Man  and  Superman  "  ? 

I  have  also  been  reading  Edward  Carpenter's  books  a  good 
lot  lately.  "  Love's  Coming  of  Age  "  is  the  best  book  on 
the  sex  question  that  I  know  of. 

I  wrote  a  review  of  an  American  book  on  the  decline  of  the 
birth-rate  the  other  day.  It  should  be  in  the  next  Fabian 
News.  I  have  been  asked  to  draft  a  tract  on  Socialism 
and  the  Universities.  It  was  with  that  in  my  mind  that  I 
read  Webb's  book  on  London  Education. 


It  was  at  a  meeting  of  the  C.U.F.S.  on  20  February, 
1908,  that  Keeling  caused  a  small  sensation  among  the 
Newnham  and  Girton  contingent  by  exclaiming,  "  I  hate  to 
see  a  woman  with  a  dead  cat  round  her  neck !  "  which  was 
his  way  of  stating  that  he  disapproved  of  furs.  He  had  a 
fierce  hatred  of  cruelty,  whether  vindictive  or  cold-blooded  ; 
and  he  once  said  that  the  first  passion  he  could  remember 
feeling  was  an  outburst  of  violent  indignation  at  the  sight 
of  what  he  thought  was  unjust  chastisement  administered 
to  a  child. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  following  term,  on  June  7th, 
Keeling  delivered  a  farewell  address  to  the  Society.  It  was 
entitled  "  Apologia  Proletarii  " — i.e.  the  proletarian's  vin- 
dication of  his  cause  ;  but  it  dealt  with  many  things.  Ben 
wanted  to  be  very  clear,  and  so  resolved  to  write  his  lecture 
out  ;  but  these  final  days  were  "  jovial  "  ones,  and  when  the 


MEMOIR  21 

appointed  date  arrived  he  found  he  could  not  get  it  finished. 
He  decided  to  read  as  much  as  he  had  written  and  then  to 
improvise  the  rest.  There  is  at  least  one  friend  of  his  who 
still  remembers  the  strangest  passage  in  that  really  remark- 
able discourse.  This  passage  was  part  read,  part  spoken  ; 
the  transition  was  in  the  middle  of  a  clause  ;  and  the  length, 
the  involution,  the  redundancy,  the  incoherence,  and  com- 
plete obscurity  of  the  sentence  in  which  Keeling  apologized 
for  that  transition,  on  the  ground  of  his  bein^j^o  much 
better  qualified  to  speak  than  write,  were  quite  incredible. 
The  fact  is,  what  he  had  written  had  been  written  well. 
His  speaking,  then  as  often  in  his  early  days,  was  spoiled 
by  almost  feverish  over-emphasis. 

Some  days  afterwards  Keeling  "  went  down."  He 
had  taken  a  First  Class  in  the  First  Part  of  the  History 
Tripos  in  1906,  and  a  First  Class  in  the  Second  Part  in  1907, 
when  he  became  B.A.  In  1907-8  he  studied  Economics, 
attending  the  lectures  of  Prof.  Marshall.  In  the  mean- 
time, more  people  of  an  intellectual  temper  had  passed 
through  his  rooms  than  through  those  of  any  other  under- 
graduate of  his  day.  Of  the  friends  he  made  in  those 
four  years,  some  often  saw  him  afterwards  and  some 
did  not.  But  all  alike  remembered  him  ;  they  could  not 
help  it. 


CHAPTER  II 

CAMBRIDGE    AND    LLANBEDR 

1908  (AGED  22) 

IT  was  in  June,  1907,  that  I  first  saw  Frederic  Keeling  at  one  of 
Mrs.  Webb's  receptions.  The  rooms  were  crowded,  but  this  lanky 
youth,  with  big  brown  eyes  and  ineffective  chin,  caught  my  atten- 
tion more  than  once.  He  seemed  oddly  inappropriate  in  those 
surroundings,  eager  and  rather  scornful,  as  if  he  were  looking  for 
something  that  was  not  there.  No  one  could  tell  me  his  name, 
and  I  did  not  learn  it  till  a  month  or  two  later,  at  the  Fabian 
Summer  School,  where  I  happened  to  be  in  charge  when  he  and 
a  Cambridge  friend  arrived,  and  to  receive  them  when  they  rode 
up  on  their  bicycles.  It  was  the  first  year  of  the  Fabian  Summer 
School,  which  found  its  home  in  those  days  in  a  romantic  spot  in 
North  Wales.  The  party  was  neither  large  nor  formal,  and  "  Ben," 
as  he  was  called  at  Cambridge,  soon  became  the  centre  of  it.  He 
lectured  on  Economic  History,  led  mountain  expeditions,  and 
joined  vehemently  in  every  sort  of  discussion. 

Though  at  this  time  a  blundering,  headstrong  creature,  he  was 
nevertheless  attractive,  absurdly  egotistical,  and  yet  full  of  public 
spirit  and  ready  for  any  self-sacrifice  if  he  could  see  that  it  was 
for  the  common  good.  He  had,  too,  an  engaging  way  of  treating 
his  elders  as  if  they  were  equals.  The  deference  due  to  age  is  so 
often  a  dissociating  barrier  that  elderly  people  are  sometimes  very 
willing  to  forgo  it,  especially  when,  as  in  Ben's  case,  one  could  be 
sure  of  frank,  friendly  sympathy  instead. 

During  these  few  weeks  in  Wales  he  and  I  got  to  know  one 
another  pretty  well,  and  he  began  to  form  a  habit,  which  lasted 
for  many  years,  of  telling  me  what  he  was  doing  and  thinking. 
After  we  left  Llanbedr,  however,  there  was  a  break  in  our  inter- 
course. He  returned  to  Cambridge  and  I  heard  but  little  of  him. 
It  was  not  until  Easter  of  1908  that  we  met  again.  He  had  been 
going  through  an  emotional  crisis  which  he  took  very  much  to 
heart,  and  was  badly  in  need  of  advice  and  consolation.  He  was 
staying  at  a  cottage  in  the  New  Forest,  whither  he  withdrew  from 
his  cheerful  circle  at  Cambridge  when  he  felt  the  need  of  thinking 
things  out  alone. 

23 


CAMBRIDGE  AND  LLANBEDR  23 

He  was  at  this  time  deep  in  the  history  of  the  South  African 
colonies,  with  a  view  to  a  thesis  for  a  Trinity  Fellowship,  and  was 
projecting  a  visit  to  South  Africa.  He  was  also  reading  Marx,  as 
will  appear  from  his  letters.  It  was  characteristic  of  him  that  the 
work  he  happened  to  be  doing  filled  the  horizon  and  overflowed 
constantly  into  his  conversation. 

He  had  begun  to  read  for  the  Bar  and  was  coming  up  from  time 
to  time  to  eat  his  Bar  dinners.  During  these  visits  he  got  into 
touch  with  the  London  Fabian  Society  and  saw  a  good  deal  of 
some  of  its  members. 


To  J.  C.  Squire. 

LYNDHURST,  HANTS. 

22  April,  1908. 

.  .  .  Cambridge  Socialism  is  really  doing  pretty  well  on 
the  whole.  The  most  important  thing  in  the  Society  is 
the  excellent  nucleus  we  have  got  of  first-  and  second-year 
King's  men.  Dalton  (second  year)  and  Brooke  I  (second 
year)  are  splendid  men.  Dalton  will  probably — certainly 
—be  president  next  year.  Brooke  is  a  poet  and  classical 
scholar.  He  is  just  going  to  become  a  full  member.  Then 
there  are  two  first-year  classical  scholars,  S.,  who  will 
probably  be  secretary,  and  Z.,  a  mystical  Jew.  Then 
of  course  there  is  Selwyn.2  I  think  we  shall  keep  him, 
though  his  politics  are  rather  erratic.  He  comes  into  contact 
with  Father  Bull  and  other  leading  Christian  Socialists. 
The  only  danger  is  that  King's  will  rather  monopolize 
the  show.  There  is  no  longer  a  strong  Trinity  Socialist 
set,  I  regret  to  say. 

...  I  am  rather  wishing  I  had  not  stood  for  the  Fabian 
Executive  now.  I  am  pretty  sure  to  come  out  bottom. 
Had  the  election  come  in  term  time  I  might  have  done  better, 
as  I  expect  both  Cambridge  and  Oxford  friends  would  have 
canvassed  and  given  instructions  in  the  mystical  efficiency 
of  the  plumping  vote.  (I  can't  be  accused  of  canvassing 
you  now  as  the  poll  will  be  closed  in  a  few  hours.)  .  .  . 
My  brother  is  going  up  to  Cambridge  next  year.  I  think 
he  will  be  a  Socialist  all  right.  .  .  . 

1  Rupert  Brooke. 

»  Rev.  E,  G.  Selwyn,  now  Head  Master  of  Bradfield. 


24  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

THE  UNION  SOCIETY,  CAMBRIDGE. 
ii  June,  1908. 

It  seems  a  long  time  since  I  saw  you  last.  I  have  been 
doing  a  vast  number  of  different  things  of  varying  degrees 
of  futility.  I  did  not  come  to  stay  with  you  when  I  ate 
my  remaining  Bar  dinners  for  the  term  as  I  felt  it  my  duty 
to  go  and  see  how  Guy  was  getting  on. 

Ten  days  ago  I  went  to  fulfil  an  old  engagement  to  spend 
a  week-end  with  L.  at  his  country  cottage.  It  really  was 
an  experience  worth  having.  I  am  usually  too  obsessed 
with  problems  relating  either  to  myself  or  to  humanity 
at  large  to  give  myself  up  in  sheer  "  abandon  "  to  the 
pleasure  of  the  moment.  However,  I  managed  to  catch 
on  to  the  atmosphere  there — and  I  don't  think  I  have  ever 
had  such  a  debauch  of  pleasurable  idleness  for  a  couple 
of  days  in  my  life.  I  have  a  great  liking  for  L.  I 
have  little  or  no  artistic  taste  myself,  but  I  love  the 
company  of  artists  of  nearly  every  kind. 

Well,  it  was  all  very  delightful,  and  I  feel  the  better  for 
it  and  very  strongly  inclined  to  "  ask  for  more." 

I  was  quite  miserable  for  a  couple  of  days  after  returning 
to  Cambridge.  However,  I  had  that  agitation  against 
the  Hall  on  my  hands  and  many  other  things  to  help 
diminish  the  force  of  the  images  of  those  idyllic  moments. 

Last  Monday  I  delivered  an  address  to  the  Fabians  here. 
The  central  idea  was  Socialism  as  the  creator  of  liberty — 
but  I  talked  at  some  length  of  the  family  and  ideas  of  sexual 
morality.  My  friends  say  I  am  obsessed  with  sex  nowa- 
days ;  perhaps  that  is  true.  However,  I  stirred  up  the 
best  Fabian  discussion  we  have  ever  had  here.  Newnham 
was  very  shocked.  ...  I  was  very  serious,  but  I  felt  some 
qualms  afterwards  and  wondered  if  I  really  had  talked 
merely  to  satisfy  myself  and  might  have  made  a  more 
profitable  farewell  address,  but  on  reflection  I  am  glad  I 
said  what  I  did.  The  family  is  going  to  be  the  crux  of  the 
whole  social  question,  and  some  one  has  got  to  open  the  eyes 
of  these  virgins.  Of  course  the  respectables  predominated 


CAMBRIDGE  AND  LLANBEDR  25 

and  got  up  and  talked  sentiment,  but  there  were  a  good 
few  men  in  sympathy  with  me. 

If  we  ever  are  to  break  the  family  or — which  is  a  better 
way  of  putting  it — secure  liberty  for  other  forms  of  social 
organization,  it  will  be,  not  primarily  through  the  dissemina- 
tion of  theories,  but  because  of  the  growth  of  personal  dislike 
for  the  institution,  which  I  find  a  very  large  proportion  of 
my  friends  have  in  common  with  me.  It  is  one  of  my 
dreams  that  through  my  numerous  and  growing  friendships 
with  Cambridge  and  Oxford  and  other  Socialists  of  my  own 
generation,  I  may  be  able  to  do  something  towards  creating 
a  large  enough  body  of  opinion  to  make  a  development, 
in  those  other  forms  which  are  to  supersede  family  organiza- 
tion, possible.  It  does  not  take  a  vast  number  of  individuals 
to  clear  a  space  in  the  jungle  of  convention  sufficiently 
large  for  experiment — provided  only  we  keep  together 
closely.  A  hundred  really  determined  individuals  in 
more  or  less  important  positions,  some  of  them  with  a 
measure  of  economic  independence,  can  do  a  good  lot  to 
influence  public  opinion. 

I  made  a  miserable  speech  against  Harold  Cox  here  the 
other  night.  I  am  just  now  in  an  awkward  stage  for  a 
Socialist  agitator — knowing  enough  economics  to  have 
undermined  the  enthusiastic  cocksureness  with  which  I 
used  to  roar  my  half-truths,  and  yet  not  having  ideas  and 
facts  sufficiently  at  my  fingers'  ends  to  have  acquired  the 
confidence  that  is  bred  of  deep  knowledge.  However,  I 
can  see  what  I  need  in  order  to  increase  my  power — which 
is  the  most  important  thing  at  my  age. 

I  daren't  re-read  this  letter,  or  I  should  tear  it  up  for  its 
pages  of  ceaseless  egoism.  However,  if  you  are  bored  you 
must  say  so  and  it  will  be  a  good  lesson  to  me. 

To  the  Same. 

TRINITY  COLLEGE,  CAMBRIDGE. 
30  June,  1908. 

I  am  more  or  less  in  solitude  in  Cambridge  now,  and 
am  having  an  opportunity  for  some  healthy  meditation  as 
well  as  work. 


26  KEELING  LETTERS 

I  have  been  thinking  over  things  in  general  a  good  bit 
and  have  come  to  several  conclusions.  .  .  . 

I  am  going  to  do  nothing  but  work  for  two  months  till 
I  go  to  Wales.  I  have  started  at  it  pretty  solidly,  and  I 
shall  probably  go  down  to  Lyndhurst  in  a  day  or  two  to 
continue  grinding  without  any  interval.  I  have  also  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  if  I  have  any  more  of  Cambridge  it 
will  do  me  harm.  I  have  rather  shut  myself  off  from 
realities — I  mean  democratic  realities — lately  for  the  sake  of 
acquiring  intellectual  knowledge  and  also  for  the  sake  of 
cultivating  sides  of  myself  in  a  hothouse  manner.  I  feel 
I  have  been  losing  some  of  my  old  fire.  That  was  inevitable 
for  a  time.  You  can't  go  on  ranting  quite  so  readily  if 
you  are  conscious  of  economic  difficulties  at  every  step. 
But  I  see  there  is  a  danger  of  becoming  a  slave  of  economic 
facts  instead  of  their  master,  and  when  I  have  gone  through 
the  economic  grind  which  I  am  setting  myself,  there  is 
a  danger  that  I  might  find  my  enthusiasm  gone.  But  I 
am  determined  that  shan't  be.  ...  So  once  I  have  slept 
my  forty-five  nights  in  order  to  get  my  £20  for  this  quarter, 
let  there  be  an  end  of  Cambridge  for  me.  I  feel  I  must 
have  a  wider  world. 


6  a.m.     Three  miles  up  the  river. 

I  have  been  camping  out  up  here  last  night.  It  has  been 
a  glorious  night  and  morning.  When  I  went  to  sleep  soon 
after  10  and  again  when  I  first  woke  at  12.45  it  was  light 
enough  to  read,  and  on  both  occasions  there  was  a  long 
stretch  of  red  and  yellow  sky  to  be  seen  in  a  gap  in  the 
woods.  I  slept  in  a  field  of  newly  cut  grass,  and  the  smell 
is  one  for  the  nostrils  of  the  gods.  This  morning  I  rose 
soon  after  4  and  walked  a  good  way  up  the  river.  It 
was  simply  glorious.  Fresh  woods,  grass  with  jovial-looking 
cart-horses  feeding  and  eyeing  me  in  a  brotherly  way,  the 
steaming  river,  a  cornfield  with  poppies  in  it,  an  oat-field 
with  dew  on  the  white  grains  glistening  in  the  sun,  roses 
everywhere  along  the  bank,  sometimes  growing  on  the  top 
of  the  willow-tree  trunks  and  forget-me-nots  at  frequent 
intervals.  I  am  now  lying  again  in  the  field  where  I  slept 


CAMBRIDGE  AND  LLANBEDR  27 

amid  the  glorious  smell  of  the  cut  grass  and  with  the  joy 
of  "  bird  song  at  morning  "  in  the  woods  round  me. 

Nature  will  afford  my  chief  relaxation  and  my  only 
passion  for  the  next  two  months  anyhow  .  .  .  though  I 
admit  I  can't  get  B.  out  of  my  mind.  The  sight  of  the 
sunset  as  I  went  to  sleep  last  night  and  my  walk  this 
morning  made  me  think  of  her.  .  .  . 

Back  to  economics. 


To  the  Same. 

BANK,  LYNDHURST. 

6  July,  1908. 

I  have  been  here  alone  since  last  Thursday.  I  got  your 
letter  a  day  or  so  after  I  came.  Needless  to  say  the  forest 
is  simply  glorious  just  now.  Since  Friday  it  has  been  quite 
cool  too.  I  read  a  lot  out  of  doors,  but  the  little  sitting- 
room  is  quite  a  good  place  to  work  in  as  the  sun  is  only 
on  it  in  the  afternoon.  I  am  now  under  a  tree  on  the  hill 
overlooking  the  hamlet  where  we  came  on  the  afternoon 
when  you  arrived.  .  .  . 

I  have  read  "  Jude  the  Obscure  "  since  I  came  down  here. 
I  remember  you  talked  about  it  when  you  were  here.  It 
is  an  extraordinary  book.  I  wish  I  had  read  it  earlier. 
But  then,  one  can  only  interpret  books  in  the  light  of  one's 
own  experience.  A  few  days  before  I  left  Cambridge  I 
got  together  about  a  dozen  Fabians  to  read  "  Man  and 
Superman."  We  read  the  whole  play,  including  Act  III. 
I  read  "  John  Tanner,"  and  I  believe  I  read  it  rather  well ; 
at  any  rate,  I  enjoyed  it  hugely.  But  what  surprised  me 
most  was  the  enormous  number  of  ideas  which  I  saw  in 
the  play  as  compared  with  what  I  had  seen  when  I  read 
it  just  a  year  ago.  Practically  the  whole  of  that  lecture 
Shaw  gave  on  "  Marriage  "  at  the  school  is  contained  in  the 
play  and  appendixes,  besides  a  lot  of  other  things  on  the 
same  subject.  .  .  . 

I  suppose  there  really  is  quite  a  large  ferment  in  society 
generally  at  the  present  moment  on  the  subject  of  marriage 
and  the  family  as  institutions.  And  yet  how  small  it  seems 
compared  with  the  vast  mass  of  unthinking  acquiescence 


28  KEELING  LETTERS 

or  hypocritical  makeshift.  One  aspect  of  the  thing  as  it 
concerns  myself  has  been  in  my  mind  on  and  off  since  I 
came  down  here — that  is,  the  extent  to  which  one  has  to 
be  double-faced  about  one's  real  moral  attitude.  I  don't 
propose  to  solve  the  question  for  myself,  much  less  for  any 
one  else,  in  a  doctrinaire  way.  But  the  problem  has  just 
begun  to  show  itself  in  my  life  in  a  small  way.  I  believe 
what  perhaps  helps  me  more  than  anything  else  in  my 
dealings  with  people  is  my  openness  and  candour.  It's 
not  a  virtue — often  it's  a  nuisance  both  to  others  and  to 
myself :  but  I  simply  can't  help  it.  It  is  the  result  of 
stupidity — I'm  a  very  poor  liar,  and  I  don't  like  having 
secrets  that  I  share  with  no  one  at  all.  ...  If  I  had  to 
go  about  the  world  concealing  a  large  part  of  my  life,  it 
would  rob  me  of  much  of  my  power — such  as  it  is.  And 
whatever  may  be  the  value  of  political  or  any  other  kind 
of  respectability  I  don't  think  I  shall  do  it.  And  if  I  act 
up  to  my  ideals  I  don't  see  why  I  should  have  to,  for  we 
are  righting  for  what  is  really  an  ethical  advance.  I  have 
always  found  that  if  I  keep  that  notion  honestly  in  my 
head  I  can  make  men  who  a  priori  hate  my  principles  at 
least  listen  to  me. 

I  had  no  idea  Hardy  was  such  a  thinker  as  well  as  an 
artist.  Having  little  or  no  literary  feeling,  I  am  rather  a 
sentimentalist  about  novels  when  they  really  get  hold  of 
me,  and  the  last  sixty  pages  of  "  Jude  "  simply  tortured 
me.  I  am  conscious  enough  of  my  own  ignorance  of  the 
psychology  of  women.  But,  good  God  !  How  much  less 
some  men  know — and  how  little  they  seem  to  learn  in 
a  lifetime  !  I  came  across  a  curious  statement  in 
"  Weininger  "  the  other  day  to  the  effect  that  no  woman 
has  ever  given  an  account  of  her  feelings  during  pregnancy 
(he  says  generally  that  it  is  only  through  men  that  we  can 
learn  about  women).  I  doubt  if  the  statement  is  true,  but 
I  wondered  if  there  were  any  basis  for  it. 

I  am  grinding  away  at  Marx  now.  It  is  somewhat 
hard  and  there  is  rather  a  lot  of  unnecessary,  rather 
nonsensical  wordiness  mixed  up  with  the  essential  stuff 
and  some  jovial  and  blasphemous  metaphors  and 
epigrams. 


CAMBRIDGE  AND  LLANBEDR  29 

I  shan't  come  up  to  the  Fabian  soiree,  partly  because  I 
am  in  a  semi-melancholy  and  rather  lonely  mood  just  now, 
and  partly  because  I  am  growing  a  beard  and  it  is  not 
quite  a  fortnight  old  and  looks  rather  awful.  Look  here  ; 
won't  you  come  down  for  next  week-end  on  Saturday  ? 
You  can  get  a  week-end  ticket  to  Lyndhurst.  If  you  can't 
do  that,  you  must  come  to  Cambridge. 

To  the  Same. 

LYNDHURST.    8  July,  1908. 

Thanks  so  much  for  your  letter  which  came  this  morning. 
I  don't  think  I  shall  come  up  to  town  this  week. 

The  beard  is  at  an  awful  stage.  But  I  don't  want  to 
sacrifice  it  and  go  through  all  the  previous  development 
again  ;  and  it  will  mean  that  I  can't  start  again  till  after 
I  have  been  to  Mrs.  Webb  on  the  I7th.  But  perhaps  I 
might  keep  it  on  as  it  is,  even  if  I  came,  though  I  should 
have  to  summon  up  a  lot  of  courage. 

I  have  been  working  at  Marx  all  day  and  am  getting  very 
keen  on  it.  I  go  very  slowly  but  am  getting  more  and  more 
interested.  Of  course  there  are  definite  fallacies — glaring 
fallacies — but  at  times  the  spirit  and  style  are  full  of  dignity 
and  force.  And  the  book  is  well  worth  reading  after  one 
knows  something  of  the  classical  school. 


Wednesday  evening. 

I  went  for  -a  long  walk  this  afternoon  over  the  hill  in  the 
wood  which  we  climbed  on  that  wet  morning.  It  had 
poured  with  rain  for  some  time  this  morning  and  the  woods 
were  glorious,  with  the  sun  shining  on  the  wet  trees  and 
grass.  At  first  there  were  heavy  black  clouds  about  and 
the  undulating  pine-woods  looked  almost  like  South  German 
scenery.  There  is  a  beautiful  avenue  of  those  cone-shaped 
firs  just  beyond  the  point  which  we  reached,  and  farther  on 
still  a  lot  of  open  moorland  on  high  ground  above  the  woods. 

I  was  in  a  mood  for  Nature,  and  shouted  motives  out  of 
"  Siegfried"  and  the  "  Walkiire  "  from  pure  joy. 


30  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  the  Same. 

TRINITY  COLLEGE,  CAMBRIDGE. 
21  July,  1908. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  your  letter.  I  am  so  glad  you 
were  able  to  see  R.1 

I  turned  out  some  sort  of  a  report  for  Mrs.  Webb  with 
the  assistance  of  one  or  two  other  men  and  went  to  stay 
with  them  on  Thursday.  Needless  to  say  I  had  a  most 
interesting  time  in  very  many  ways.  I  shan't  have  time 
to  tell  you  anything  that  happened  now.  But  about  the 
most  important  thing  was  that  I  definitely  settled  on  what 
I  shall  turn  my  hand  to,  at  any  rate  for  the  present.  In 
accordance  with  their  suggestion,  I  shall  select  a  working- 
class  borough,  settle  down  there  next  October  or  September, 
do  everything  I  can  in  the  way  of  local  politics  and 
administration,  possibly  try  my  hand  at  some  writing,  any- 
how finish  off  my  Bar  exams.,  and  look  out  for  the  secre- 
taryship of  any  public  or  semi-public  committee  which 
is  going. 

I  am  quite  clear  now  that  this  is  right.  It  is  what  I 
have  intended  to  try  for  ultimately  for  some  years,  only 
I  came  to  set  up  as  preliminary  tasks  trying  for  a  Trinity 
Fellowship  and  the  South  African  expeditions  The  latter 
must  go  by  the  board  ;  I  am  sorry  in  many  ways,  but  it 
seems  best.  I  may  still  try  for  the  Trinity  Fellowship  ; 
it  seems  rather  poor  to  stop  trying  for  a  thing.  But  I 
feel  that  it  will  not  be  from  weakness  if  I  let  it  go  alto- 
gether. I  know  I  have  got  the  will  to  make  myself  grind 
at  research  for  two  years  if  I  like,  but  I  am  thoroughly 
convinced  that  I  am  not  primarily  or  indeed  to  any  great 
extent  a  man  of  books.  When  I  tabulate  the  pros  and  cons 
as  to  whether  I  shall  make  the  fellowship  my  main  object 
for  two  years,  the  cons  clearly  predominate  : — 

Pro.  (i)  An  excellent  start  in  life  if  I  get  it — would  give 
me  credit,  etc.  (2)  ?  £1,400  or  so  in  cash.  (3)  A  good 
training — in  fact,  grubbing,  and  a  more  or  less  useful 
agglomeration  of  facts  for  political  purposes. 

Con.  (i)  My  chances  are  not  very  great.     (2)  If  I  don't 

1  My  daughter,  whom  he  married  in  1909,  at  this  time  in  prison 
as  a  suffragist. — E.T. 


CAMBRIDGE  AND  LLANBEDR  31 

get  it  I  am  practically  two  years  behind  in  politics.  (3)  I 
have  not  got  sufficient  brain  to  go  in  for  politics  keenly 
and  at  the  same  time  do  purely  academic  research.  I  am 
too  keen  and  get  too  excited  about  the  former.  (4)  I 
shall  learn  far  more  by  a  combination  of  local  administration 
and  reading  economics,  etc.,  with  a  view  to  applying  it 
to  practical  problems  than  by  anything  else  I  can  do  during 
the  next  few  years  (5)  The  political  prospects  look  promis- 
ing for  me.  (6)  Cash  is  not  an  essential  to  me.  (7)  A 
Trinity  Fellowship,  as  against  a  Trinity  Scholarship,  will  not 
add  vastly  to  my  reputation  among  Socialists,  etc.  Also  it 
is  not  reputation  but  present  personality  that  really  counts. 
Anyhow  I  have  decided;  and  I  am  going  to  start  stirring 
up  some  borough  next  autumn.  I  have  already  communi- 
cated with  Bray,  Ensor,  Sanders,  and  some  of  my  Labour 
friends  in  Southwark  with  a  view  to  making  my  choice. 
I  think  it  will  be  Southwark  unless  I  hear  of  any  place 
more  promising. 

I  am  probably  coming  to  town  for  a  day  to  see  Ensor, 
Sanders,  etc.,  soon.  I  would  stay  the  night  with  you  only 
I  think  I  must  come  back  here  and  go  on  with  my  profitable 
slumbers — it  works  out  at  nearly  ten  shillings  a  night  if 
I  get  the  full  forty-four  done. 

The  Fabians  here  are  very  keen  on  my  taking  this  line. 
As  it  happens,  the  two  leading  men  now  both  have  a  chance 
of  securing  a  measure  of  financial  independence  as  soon  as 
they  finish  up  here,  and  if  I  succeed  in  showing  that  there 
is  a  useful  career  on  the  lines  I  suggest  they  will  probably 
come  and  join  me.  I  hope  my  friend  Dudley  Ward  will 
come  and  live  with  me  at  once  and  give  me  some  help.  I 
have  hopes  that  I  might  secure  a  regular  stream  of  Cam- 
bridge Socialists  for  South  London.  It  would  really  be  a 
new  movement — no  damned  ideas  of  religion,  philanthropy, 
or  "  social  service,"  but  a  plain  carrying  out  of  what  will 
in  the  future  become  normal  activities  of  citizenship.  By 
God !  if  we  could  capture  a  Borough  Council  or  a  Board  of 
Guardians  we  would  shift  something. 

I  wish  I  were  going  to  set  about  to  earn  my  living  in 
some  ways.  Webb  said  I  might  be  making  £300  a  year  by 


32  KEELING  LETTERS 

writing,  if  I  turn  my  work  into  articles,  etc.,  in  a  few  years. 
But  I  don't  believe  I  have  got  the  readiness  for  that  sort  of 
thing.  So  long  as  I  really  am  doing  work,  and  damned 
hard  work,  it  won't  matter  not  making  money.  And  I 
think  I  shall  manage  to  find  plenty  to  do. 

This  decision  has  put  new  life  into  me.  I  am  working  at 
"  Industrial  Democracy,"  "  Progress  and  Poverty,"  and 
dipping  into  the  later  volumes  and  miscellaneous  works  of 
Marx. 

God  !  how  sex  seems  to  distort  our  lives  so  often,  when  it 
ought  to  be  the  core  of  their  fullness  !  There  is  no  dignity 
in  this  continual  pointless  obsession  with  the  thing.  How 
we  misinterpret  our  own  personalities  over  it  and  other 
people's !  I  felt  almost  a  cynic  the  other  night.  E.  was 
in  my  rooms — he  is  up  here  for  the  long  vac. — talking  about 
C.  D.  But  he  was  not  really  talking  about  her.  He 
cannot  know  her  as  she  is.  He  misses  much  that  is  bad 
and  almost  as  much  that  is  good.  Of  course  we  can  only 
interpret  others  by  what  is  in  ourselves — and  when  we  are 
in  love  by  what  is  highest  in  ourselves,  I  suppose.  But 
while  E.,  who  is  still  passionately  in  love  with  her,  was 
talking  away,  I  could  do  nothing  but  sit  and  think.  There 
was  nothing  discreditable  to  her  in  the  situation.  Only 
the  contemplation  of  E.'s  utter  misunderstanding  and 
ignorance  and  blindness  makes  me  so  mad  at  the  universal 
folly,  though,  no  doubt,  he  gets  a  thousand  things — truths 
one  might  call  them — out  of  life  from  his  passion  that  I 
miss  with  my  (comparative)  reasonableness.  Why  do  I  see 
truth  more  than  he  ?  And  yet  I  know  there  is  something 
wrong  in  his  incapacity  to  see  facts,  though  it  may  not 
be  all  loss. 

Look  here  ;  do  select  some  day  next  week  to  come  and  see 
me.  I  should  like  you  to  come  and  see  me  while  I  am  still  at 
Cambridge.  Is  the  Summer  School  business  still  pressing  ? 

You  can  spare  one  night  away. 

I  am  writing  this  by  the  twilight  on  the  top  of  my  tower. 
It  is  getting  dark  now  and  I  must  resume  my  economics. 
Good-night.  Do  come  down. 


CAMBRIDGE  AND  LLANBEDR  33 

The  Fabian  Summer  School  opened  again  in  August,  and  Keeling 
returned  to  Llanbedr,  almost  as  to  a  home,  having  persuaded 
several  of  his  best  friends  to  join  him  there.  He  arrived  first, 
and  after  a  week  or  two  went  off  to  meet  them  for  a  walk  over 
the  mountains.  Two  of  the  following  letters  were  written  during 
this  expedition  and  the  rest  from  a  tent  on  the  shore  to  which  he 
withdrew  later  on. 

To  the  Same. 

BIRCHER  KNOLL,  LEOMINSTER. 
10  o'clock  Wednesday  night,  28  August,  1908. 

Just  a  line  to  post  to-morrow.  I  have  had  a  most 
enjoyable  day  with  Dalton,  Shove,  Brooke,  Schloss,  and 
Strachey.  You  may  know  some  of  the  names.  This 
evening  Dudley  Ward  turned  up  unexpectedly,  which  was 
very  jovial.  I  look  forward  to  the  society  of  some  of  my 
dearest  Cambridge  friends  with  that  of  the  Pen-yr-alt 
people  very  much.  We  are  off  to  Llanferfechan  at  eight 
o'clock  to-morrow. 

Last  week  was  a  strain  for  me  in  many  ways.  I  came 
utterly  tired  mentally.  I  was  dissatisfied  with  and  worried 
over  my  last  two  lectures,  and  of  course  sex  came  in  again 
as  the  last  straw.  What  a  damned  fool  I  am,  or  rather 
how  unbridled  my  emotions  are  ! 

The  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  by  the  time  I  left  Pen-yr-alt 
I  was  being  eaten  up  by  a  kind  of  wild  attraction  I  have 
never  felt  before  and  did  not  want — for  X.  By  God  ! 
you  will  laugh  at  me  for  a  fool  some  day,  only  don't  just 
now.  I  was  fighting  that  thing  more  and  more  every 
day.  I  was  alternately  seeking  out  and  avoiding  that 
woman.  I  have  never  felt  myself  lose  my  self-possession 
in  any  one's  presence  so  much  before.  I  always  knew  what 
I  was  immediately  about  before  with  any  woman.  She 
knew  something  was  up.  I  tramped  all  day  Monday 
with  Baynes,  R ,  and  C—  -  in  order  to  get  the  atmo- 
sphere of  the  mountains  and  of  straightforward  comradeship 
with  the  three  people  there  who  could  give  it  me  best. 
Then  I  was  all  right  and  hugely  happy.  But  till  I  was 
well  off,  and  when  I  got  back,  this  curious,  absolutely  in- 
voluntary, driving,  haunting  desire  which  was  quite  new 

4 


34 

came  over  me.      There  is  no  choice  or  the  minimum  of 
choice  in  it.  ... 

Oh,  it  is  so  stupid  and  I  feel  tired  and  maimed  about  it. 
It  was  an  effort  to  drag  myself  away  yesterday.  I  know 
she  is  leaving  on  Saturday.  I  knew  it  was  best  and  I  knew 
I  must  go,  but  I  could  not  pull  myself  together.  So  I 
muttered  something  about  seeing  her  in  town  and  simply 
turned  and  jumped  on  to  my  bicycle  and  bolted.  ...  I 
must  go  to  bed.  I  don't  know  whether  I  shall  post  this. 
I  hate  this  instability  on  the  sexual  side  of  myself.  I  am 
trying  to  make  myself  more  stable  in  every  way.  But 
if  you  were  dissatisfied  with  me  very  much  in  the  last 
few  days,  please  remember  this  thing  was  growing  in  me. 
I  suppose  I  shall  get  rid  of  it.  That  will  make  it  still  more 
silly.  But  at  any  rate  it  is  real,  and  I  feel  a  wildness  about 
the  whole  thing  I  have  never  known  before.  Well,  perhaps 
this  letter  will  never  go.  If  it  does  go,  here  is  a  study 
in  human  caprice  for  you  and  a  flashlight  on  the  vitals 
of  an  honest  fool. 

NEAR  LLYN  OGWEN 

(At  Supper  in  a  Farmhouse  with  Bayncs,  Dukes,  Hubback). 
10  o'clock  Thursday  night,  29  August,  1908. 

"  Pedestrian  exorcism." 

Rather  a  good  Meredithian  phrase.  Exactly  what  I 
have  been  doing  to-day.  I  have  been  walking  the  devil 
out  of  me.  But  there  was  a  ghost  by  my  side  at  intervals. 
I  am  in  glorious  physical  condition  and  couldn't  stand 
the  slow  pace  of  the  majority  when  we  left  Llanferfechan. 
So  Godwin  and  I  got  ahead.  We  had  all  made  this  place 
our  objective.  Godwin  and  I  lost  our  way,  got  off  the  main 
ridge,  and  came  around  through  a  long  valley  and  marsh 
and  by  Lord  Penrhyn's  quarries.  We  found  Hubback 
and  Dukes  here.  The  others  (four  in  number)  had  all 
crocked  up,  and  gone  down  to  Aber.  The  opening  climb 
up  from  Llanferfechan  was  very  stiff  and  they  were  in  bad 
training.  I  am  going  along  a  hefty  traverse  on  Tryfan 
with  Bill  to-morrow.  The  others  are  going  up  a  milder  way. 
Glorious  country  and  views.  But  1  can't  get  back  my 
untroubled  exuberance.  She  will  probably  have  gone 
when  you  get  this.  I  don't  know  how  stupid  the  letter 
I  scribbled  last  night  is,  but  I  will  send  it  after  all. 


CAMBRIDGE  AND  LLANBEDR  35 

The  others  demand  bed  and  I  must  stop  soon.  We  shall 
meet  the  four  weaklings  at  Llanberis  to-morrow  night.  I 
am  going  to  sleep  out  with  Dukes. 

I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  again ;  this  walk  is  glorious, 
but  I  am  haunted  and  I  can't  exorcise  the  devil  completely, 
and  it  gives  me  a  kind  of  mental  tiredness  which  conflicts 
with  the  physical  joy  of  the  mountains.  Good-night. 

To  the  Same. 

ON  THE  SHORE  AT  LLANBEDR. 

I  September,  1908,   10.30  p.m. 

I  have  been  lying  listening  to  the  river  for  a  long  time. 
As  Bill  has  probably  told  you,  we  put  the  tent  up  tem- 
porarily only  a  short  distance  from  the  bridge,  right  on  the 
river  bank.  The  sound  of  the  water  is  wonderful.  There 
is  the  gentle  ripple  of  the  surface  water  on  the  rocks,  the 
steady  drumming  of  the  main  stream,  and  a  sort  of  sucking 
swirl  every  few  seconds  like  a  great,  jovial,  overfed  beast 
grunting.  I  wish  I  knew  a  piece  of  music  that  expressed 
the  spirit  of  a  stream  of  this  size  as  the  overture  of 
"  Rheingold  "  expresses  the  might  of  a  giant  river. 

It  was  really  impracticable  to  get  the  tent  over  the  sand- 
hills to-night.  Amongst  other  things,  I  couldn't  get  a 
lantern,  also  there  is  no  fresh  water  by  the  sandhills  ;  so  I 
stopped  here  to-night  and  asked  Bill  to  send  two  sturdy 
men  to  help  me  take  the  tent  and  other  things  two  or  three 
miles  early  to-morrow. 

I  must  resist  the  temptation  to  make  psychical  corpora 
vilia  of  people  generally  (silly  insects  insist  on  outraging 
my  humanitarian  sentiments  by  immolating  themselves 
in  my  candle).  What  a  lot  of  people  I  seem  destined  to 
bring  trouble  upon,  either  by  crashing  about  and  experi- 
menting in  relationships  with  them  or  else  by  demanding 
their  sjmipathy.  I  am  appalled  by  the  thought  often. 
Yet  I  don't  will  to  do  it.  Perhaps  I  shall  learn  to  be  less 
of  a  nuisance  some  day,  or  to  pay  back  some  of  the  debt 
vicariously. 

2  September. 

I  have  just  come  up  to  the  inn  for  dinner  ;  somewhat 
tired  after  transporting  the  tent  and  my  goods  to  the  shore 


86  KEELING  LETTERS 

with  the  aid  of  D.  and  S.  We  had  rather  a  business  getting 
the  tent  up  in  the  wind.  I  trust  I  shall  not  find  it  blown 
down  when  I  return.  I  believe  it  is  in  the  exact  spot  where 
you  and  R.  and  I  spent  several  hours  one  very  hot  day  a 
year  ago.  Do  come  down  to-morrow. 

To  the  Same. 

5  September. 

It  is  I  a.m.,  but  the  situation  is  so  delightful  that  I  must 
write  you  a  few  lines  before  I  sleep.  I  got  a  kettle  in  the 
village  after  leaving  you  and  came  back  via  the  station 
and  Mochras  Farm.  They  are  willing  to  give  me  meals 
there,  and,  if  I  like,  a  room,  or  to  let  me  pitch  my  tent  there 
in  a  field  overlooking  the  sea.  The  evening  and  night  have 
been  glorious,  a  moon  for  several  hours  over  the  sea,  clear 
starlight,  and  scarcely  any  wind.  I  dragged  up  an  enormous 
log  and  have  got  a  splendid  fire  by  which  I  am  lying  now, 
wrapped  in  your  rug.  The  tide  is  pretty  high,  so  the  waves 
are  roaring  steadily  and  every  now  and  then  a  bird  whistles. 
I  am  going  to  sleep  outside  the  tent  by  the  fire.  It  has 
been  so  glorious.  I  wish  you  had  been  here. 

But  I  must  sleep  now  if  I  am  to  catch  the  7.19. 

To  the  Same. 

10  September. 

I  felt  rather  bored  with  K.  on  our  walk  this  morning, 
but  we  had  at  his  suggestion  a  glorious  bathe  in  a  pool  we 
passed  in  the  woods.  It  was  raining  at  intervals,  so  no  one 
was  likely  to  come.  The  sun  came  out  suddenly  and  the 
pinewoods  to  the  left  above  the  rocks  stood  out  against  a 
glorious  piece  of  blue  sky.  I  shouted  and  splashed  about 
for  joy.  Now  I  am  going  back  to  my  island. 

I  am  learning  a  lot  from  Morley's  "  Gladstone."  I 
have  really  only  just  begun  to  learn  about  men's  motives 
and  methods  from  history.  One  requires  experience  of 
one's  own  to  go  on  first,  before  one  gets  much  from  books  ; 
at  least,  I  do. 

Do  meet  me  soon. 

(Written  in  showers  of  rain  on  the  Artro  bank  near  where 
we  walked  the  other  day.) 


CAMBRIDGE  AND  LLANBEDR  37 

To  the  Same. 

IN    THE   WOODS    BEHIND    PEN-YR-ALT. 

Sunday,  13  September,  1908. 

...  I  am  conscious  of  an  almost  restless  energy  in  me. 
(That  is  no  boast,  for  energy  in  itself  is  not  good  or  bad.) 
It  finds  expression  in  numberless  actions,  every  one  of  them 
small  or  great,  the  result  ultimately  of  an  inexplicable  im- 
pulse generally  having  some  definite  sudden  origin  at  some 
moment  of  time.  How  far  other  men  act  in  this  way  I 
don't  know.  I  only  know  that  my  whole  life  consists  of  a 
constantly  overflowing  stream  of  energies  partially  guided 
by  reason,  experience  rather  than  logic  being  the  most 
important  instrument  of  the  guiding  power.  This  is  the 
most  accurate  account  I  can  give  of  my  own  life  processes. 
The  obvious  result  of  them  is  that  there  is  a  constant  process 
of  selection  going  on  between  numberless  experiments — 
a  regular  struggle  for  existence.  Of  course  my  progress 
depends  largely  on  very  many  experiments  being  made 
which  are  detrimental  to  other  people  as  well  as  myself. 
God  knows  that  I  suffer  enough  from  the  contemplation 
of  the  fact.  Yet  I  do  not  shrink  from  it.  My  faith  in 
myself,  my  will  to  live,  call  it  what  you  will,  accepts  it  as 
inevitable  and  marches  on.  I  feel  somehow  that,  whether 
for  good  or  for  evil,  that  marching  on  is  the  advance  of  an 
entity  which  is  always  greater  than  the  mere  ego  which  is 
writing  this  crude  piece  of  psychology  to  you. 

I  caused  years  of  suffering  to  the  mother  who  bore  me 
and  now  I  have  caused  indefinite  suffering  to  F.,  yet  I 
would  willingly  atone  for  either  of  these  courses  of  action 
by  any  work  of  expiation.  I  would  consciously  select  a 
life  of  narrower  interests,  less  effective  work,  less  dear 
friendships  and  loves  if  by  so  doing  I  could  increase  the  well- 
being  of  my  fellow-men.  But  the  point  is  one  does  not 
consciously  select  one's  life  :  and  the  ego  that  would  alone 
be  capable  of  conscious  selection  is  only  a  part  of  the  driving 
force  that  makes  up  the  larger  whole.  ...  I  believe  if 
there  is  anything  in  the  feelings  of  humility  and  unworthi- 
ness  which  the  greatest  Christian  teachers  have  spoken  of,  I 
am  experiencing  these  sentiments  at  this  juncture  of  my  life. 


CHAPTER    III 

WALWORTH 

OCTOBER,  1908,  TO  OCTOBER,   1909  (AGED  22-3) 

AT  the  end  of  the  Welsh  holiday  Ben  went  back  to  Cambridge 
for  a  few  weeks,  and  then  finally  gave  up  his  much-loved  rooms 
under  the  tower  in  Trinity  Great  Court,  and  came  to  live  in  London. 

He  and  a  friend  took  part  of  a  grimy  house  in  the  Walworth 
Road,  where  he  plunged  at  once  into  local  politics  and  social  work. 
Care  Committees  were  being  formed  all  over  London,  and  the  work 
of  helping  to  organize  them  was  a  congenial  task,  and  one  that 
brought  him  into  contact  with  several  new  people. 

Few  letters  are  available  for  this  period,  from  October,  1908,  to 
October,  1909.  He  wrote  but  little  to  me  as  he  was  frequently 
coming  to  see  me  at  Hurlingham.  The  year  was,  however,  so 
eventful  for  him  and  marked  so  rapid  a  change  in  character  and 
outlook,  that  some  record  of  it  seems  essential.  The  following 
entries  from  his  diary  may  serve  to  fill  the  gap. 

FROM   HIS   JOURNAL. 

187  WALWORTH  ROAD. 

30  September,  1908. 

Tidied  papers.  Worked  at  Hobson's  "  Economy  of 
Distribution."  Called  on  J.  R.  MacDonald  with  D.  Saw 
first  Mrs.  MacDonald.  Then  J.  R.  M.  came  in.  A  born 
politician,  strong  will,  fine  head,  good  brain.  Arranged 
to  tramp  with  them  some  day  in  Bucks.  Dined  with  M.1 
Returned.  Listened  S.D.F.  meeting  on  unemployment. 
Crude.  But  one  man  knew  something  about  details  of 
administration  and  the  whole  thing  inspired  me.  Some- 
thing dramatic  about  street-corner  meetings — voice  of 
Demos.  Worked  at  Hobson.  D.  returned  and  told  me 
both  elected  on  committee  of  Fabian  Nursery.  Good  to 

1  "  M."  in  the  journal  stands  for  "  Mother."  He  was  in  the 
habit  of  calling  me  so  at  this  time. — E.T. 

38 


WALWORTH  89 

get  in  touch  with  all  sorts  of   political  work,  though  not 
very  keen  on  this.      Getting  to  like  the  feel  of  London. 

14  November,  1908. — Read  Adam  Smith.     4.30. — Walked 
to   Tower    Bridge    and    back,    looking   in    at    Old    Kent 
Road    reading-room.      I.L.P.    social.     Very    few    turned 
up,  read  extract  from  Shaw  to  them.     Others  came  later. 
Explained  theory  of  monopoly  rent  till  12.45. 

15  November. — Slept    till    nearly    eleven    by    mistake. 
Rushed  to  Hurlingham   and  got  half  a  game  of  hockey. 
Ran  round  field  for  exercise.     Lunched  at  M.'s  with  C.  B., 
Mrs.    S.,    and    T.     Discussed    economics.     I    felt   a   little 
irritated.     I  am  sure  they  were  talking  bosh  often,   and 
yet    my    knowledge  was    not    enough   to   prove  to   them 
where  they  were  wrong.     Talked  to  M.  and  Brian  about 
Socialist    State    Church    and    M.'s    lax   ideas    of   truth  ! 
Returned   home,    prepared   lecture    nominally    on      '  The 
Spirit  of  Democracy,"   really  on  my  conception  of  State 
Church.     This  religious  phase  really  seems  to   be   getting 
hold    of     me.      Lecture     went     pretty    well.      Four    old 
Browning  Hall  men,  who  had  known  me  there  two  years 
ago,  came  to  hear  me — good  solid  men  ;    I   liked  T.   P. 
especially.     Must  try  to  get  them  into  I.L.P. 

16  November. — Read  Adam    Smith  till  four,   meant  to 
go  to  Abbey  service  but  found  it  is  at  three.     Read  "  Way 
of  all  Flesh."     Felt  very  lonely.     A  letter  came  from  M. 
beginning  "  Dear  Keeling."     Why  am  I  so  sensitive  ?     I 
can't   help  it.     I  wish    I    had  some  one  with  me  whom 
I   could   love    and    sympathize   with   completely.     I    fear 
I  may  never  find  such  a  person.     Most  of  us  never  do,  I 
suppose.     Went  out  to  walk  streets  in  order  to  get  com- 
radeship of  many  faces.     Dined  in   a  French  restaurant 
in   Soho.     Thought  of  B.     Had  a  half-bottle  of  wine  and 
cigarettes  for  once,  felt  more  cheerful. 

18  November. — Wrote  letters.  Read  Adam  Smith.  Went 
to  afternoon  service  at  Westminster  Abbey  at  3  p.m. 
Enjoyed  it  very  much.  Went  to  House  of  Commons  to 
see  J.  R.  M.,  who  had  written  about  the  possibility  of  my 
translating  a  book  by  Bernstein.  While  waiting  for  him, 
had  a  few  words  with  Keir  Hardie,  who  was  with  Pease. 


40  KEELING  LETTERS 

I  love  Hardie,  and  still  think  he  is  the  most  hated  and 
most  loved  man  in  England  to-day.  He  looks  older  and 
his  hair  is  whiter,  but  he  is  as  upright  as  ever,  and  his  eyes 
still  have  their  wonderful,  clear-sighted  look.  Talked  to 
J.  R.  M.  about  translation  work  and  South wark  politics, 
including  possibility  of  S.  as  Candidate,  J.  R.  M.  approved. 
He  is  a  first-rate  politician,  but  what  a  contrast  to  Keir  ! 
I  don't  like  his  expression  of  reticence,  but  he  has  probably 
done  a  great  deal  for  the  cause  in  providing  organizing 
ability  and  tact.  Went  to  School  of  Economics  and  con- 
tinued reading  Smith.  Much  struck  with  the  section  in 
the  last  book  on  the  provision  of  Justice.  I  feel  the  in- 
adequacy of  economics  to  take  one  to  the  root  of  social 
problems.  They  are  all  ultimately  problems  of  the  control 
and  use  of  power — psychological  and  physical — mostly  the 
former.  Could  not  one  work  out  a  sociological  theory  on 
these  lines  ?  I  must  read  some  sociology. 

I  feel  more  and  more  the  need  of  controlling  my  tongue. 
I  am  always  speaking  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment- 
saying  things  in  conversation  which  I  feel  a  little  ashamed 
of  a  few  hours  later,  and  speaking  partly  for  effect  with 
particular  people,  rather  than  with  a  spirit  of  true  self- 
realization.  To  attain  common  truth  and  honesty  a 
conscious  effort — or  at  least  a  conscious  training — is  neces- 
sary. In  the  individual,  as  in  society,  simplicity  is  the 
goal  and  not  the  starting-point  of  development.  How 
little  is  this  realized ! 


BOURNE  COTTAGE. 

9  December,   1908. 

I  have  thought  much  of  my  action  in  the  Southwark 
I.L.P.  during  my  stay  here.  I  see  that  I  have,  to  some 
extent,  made  the  same  mistake  as  I  did  when  I  became 
a  prefect  at  Winchester — insisted  too  much  on  forcing  an 
intellectual  conception  of  what  was  in  my  own  mind  on 
simple-minded  people — leading  to  inevitable  misunder- 
standings. And  yet  that  is  what  the  Southwark  I.L.P. 
would  call  more  "  democratic."  But  it  is  no  use  putting 
your  own  terminology  to  people  who  think  in  an  utterly 


WALWORTH  41 

different  way,  and  no  use  putting  all  the  considerations 
which  weigh  with  you  to  people  who  can't  appreciate 
them  all.  I  am  not  going  to  be  obsessed  with  the  I.L.P. 
so  much.  It  is  not  advisable  even  from  the  practical 
point  of  view.  And  more  fundamentally  I  need  to  act 
more  in  consideration  of  the  factors  of  my  own  per- 
sonality— more  on  the  Stoic  principle  of  self-sufficiency 
(which  conflicts  in  no  way  with  my  social  theories  of 
morality — at  least,  I  don't  think  it  does  ;  must  work  it  out 
some  time). 

To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

NATIONAL  LIBERAL  CLUB. 

9  December,  1908. 

I  have  started  on  my  Care  Committee  work.  We  have 
also  launched  our  Central  Association  of  Care  Committees 
for  the  whole  district. 

How  splendid  the  teachers  are !  I  have  found  two 
or  three  I  am  tremendously  enthusiastic  about.  I  love 
to  get  in  direct  contact  with  the  really  vital  forces  of  the 
constructive  collectivism  of  our  time,  especially  in  men 
and  women  whose  characters  embody  the  positive  attitude 
towards  the  State. 

I  have  practically  been  beaten  on  my  I.L.P.,  pro  tern, 
at  any  rate,  and  yet  I  don't  regret  all  the  energy  I  have 
put  into  these  petty  squabbles  of  a  seemingly  ignoble 
type.  I  have  learned  much  ;  and  I  have  formed  a  few 
friendships  with  working-men  which  I  value  as  much  as 
any  I  have  ever  made.  Of  course  I  shall  stick  to  the  I.L.P. 

...  A  word.  You  don't  know  how  much  I  feel  being 
looked  on  as  a  kind  of  backslider  from  the  true  line  of  pro- 
gress by  you.  Do  please  think  once  again  whether  I  could 
have  taken  any  other  line.  I  have  never  wavered  from 
the  fundamental  position  which  I  gradually  came  to  con- 
ceive as  my  Socialism  became  more  and  more  deeply  rooted 
— the  combination  of  the  revolutionary  spirit  and  the  prac- 
tical or  evolutionary  method.  If  ever  a  man  has  had  an 
experience  which  might  turn  him  back  to  the  normal  line 
of  political  action  (i.e.  in  my  case  the  Progressive  Party ; 
national  politics  don't  matter  so  much  for  me  at  present), 


42  KEELING  LETTERS 

I  have  had  that  experience  in  the  last  three  months. 
I  could  get  all  the  practical  work  I  long  for  more  than  any- 
thing by  working  with  the  Progressives  with  a  quarter 
the  trouble  which  I  shall  have  in  getting  it  along  with 
the  Labour  and  Socialist  people.  But  I  am  going  to  stick 
to  the  latter,  why  I  don't  exactly  know.  There  is  little 
to  be  said  for  it  from  a  practical  point  of  view,  and  I  have 
seen  enough  of  "  democratic  "  politics  to  sicken  me  of 
them  for  life.  Yet  faith  in  the  ideal  seems  important 
still,  and  I  will  risk  much  loss  of  power  for  it.  If  you 
think  it  ignoble  of  me  to  be  tempted,  well,  I  can't  help 
it.  Only  talking  "  independence "  and  acting  it  (when 
your  deepest  passion  is  to  feel  yourself  doing  things)  are 
two  very  different  matters.  .  .  . 

To  the  Same. 

BOURNE  COTTAGE. 

23  December,  1908.     8.30  p.m. 

I  came  down  here  this  afternoon  and  am  revelling  in 
peace  and  solitude.  I  have  not  seen  B.  since  she  resented 
my  last  letter.  It  is  a  curious  thing  that  she  and  A.  after 
coming  to  know  me  well  both  complained  of  what  they 
call  my  brutality.  It  came  out  again  when  I  was  talking 
to  B.  about  my  children's  homes.  I  said  it  was  "  grand 
sport  "  rushing  about  to  secure  medical  treatment  for 
a  baby  with  fits.  She  was  simply  shocked,  just  as  A. 
used  to  be  when  I  explained  how  obvious  it  is  that  one 
must  always  sacrifice  individuals,  whatever  their  general 
position  or  relation  to  oneself,  to  the  general  good. 

I  am  beginning  to  think  that  women,  unless  they  have 
a  strong  dash  of  the  masculine,  are  incapable  of  overpower- 
ing impersonal  motives  (but  so  are  many  men  ;  so  prob- 
ably it  is  not  a  matter  of  sex).  I  have  noticed  several 
times  that  my  entire  disregard  of  any  individual  feelings 
when  I  am  aiming  at  what  I  conceive  to  be  a  social  end 
stiikes  many  people  as  simply  horrible.  Perhaps  I  have 
got  something  missing  in  the  gamut  of  my  emotions.  At 
any  rate,  I  know  when  I  am  tramping  about  Walworth, 
visiting  the  homes  of  necessitous  children,  etc.,  although 
I  find  I  get  on  with  both  the  women  and  the  men  extra- 


WALWORTH  43 

ordinarily  well,  yet  the  emotion  I  feel  aroused  again  and 
again  by  the  sights  I  see  is  one  of  a  passionate  love  for  the 
life  of  men  in  general,  as  it  might  be  and  as  it  is,  not  pri- 
marily a  sympathy  for  the  particular  individuals  I  am 
in  touch  with. 

The  story  of  the  baby  with  fits  is  this.  I  went  to  see 
the  home  of  two  children  we  are  feeding.  Both  the  man 
and  the  wife  are  delightful  people  and  I  learned  a  lot  from 
them.  The  children,  too,  are  very  well  looked  after  extern- 
ally. But  the  mother  is  evidently  as  ignorant  about  the 
hygiene  of  child  life — well,  I  was  going  to  say  as  I  am. 
Her  two  little  girls,  about  eight  and  ten,  are  charming, 
their  hair  well  brushed  and  their  clothes  tidy  and  clean, 
and  I  felt  much  less  afraid  of  them  than  I  am  of  most 
children.  They  were  delightfully  approachable.  I  had 
a  jovial  talk  with  all  of  the  family  and  then  asked  about 
the  baby.  The  mother  said,  in  a  resigned  way,  "  Oh,  I'm 
afraid  I  am  going  to  lose  him,  he  keeps  on  having  fits." 
So  I  at  once  explained  to  her  the  danger  of  casual  dosing 
with  medicines  she  really  knew  nothing  about.  I  then 
made  inquiries  where  the  baby  could  be  treated,  found  out 
where  there  were  hospitals  in  the  north  of  Southwark,  and 
as  the  woman  is  enceinte  gave  her  the  price  of  a  tram  fare 
there.  I  called  to  see  her  yesterday  but  found  her  out. 

Now,  what  I  think  about  primarily  in  connection  with 
this  business  is  the  ghastly  fact  that  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  mothers  are  as  ignorant  and  as  well-meaning  as  this 
poor  woman.  Whether  this  particular  baby  lives  or  dies 
seems  to  me  very  unimportant  compared  with  the  devising 
of  practical  measures  to  meet  the  general  situation.  (As 
far  as  I  can  discover — I  have  been  inquiring  from  various 
people  about  babies'  fits — there  is  no  reason  why  this  baby 
should  die.)  And  I  feel  it  is  a  great  and  glorious  thing 
to  be  getting  to  grips  with  a  huge  social  problem  first-hand, 
and  I  call  letting  off  my  energy  in  this  or  any  other  way 
grand  sport,  and  if  the  feminine  temperament  demands 
that  I  should  be  continually  gravely  sympathetic  with 
individuals  instead  of  enthusiastic  for  collectivist  hopes, 
then  either  it  has  a  damned  rotten  point  of  view  or  I  am 
fundamentally  vicious.  I  do  care  for  man  in  the  mass 


44  KEELING  LETTERS 

above  anything,  and  I  would  sacrifice  my  dearest  friends 
as  readily  as  I  would  myself  for  any  social  ends.  It  seems 
to  me  that  the  idea  that  family  relationships  or  even  friend- 
ships are  necessarily  or  should  be  the  bases  of  stronger 
passions  than  the  passion  for  humanity  is  simply  wrong. 
Christians  are  not  called  brutal  or  unfeeling  for  putting 
the  love  of  God  above  all  things,  and  why  I  should  be 
called  cruel  because  (without  any  virtuous  effort,  but 
simply  naturally)  I  count  the  welfare  of  men  for  nothing 
as  against  the  welfare  of  man,  I  can't  see. 

I  wish  you  were  here.  I  have  lots  of  things  to  talk  to 
you  about.  But  I  want  to  go  to  bed  now,  though  it  is 
only  just  past  nine,  in  order  to  be  fresh  to  read  and  com- 
mune with  my  soul  to-morrow.  I  shall  write  you  again 
soon.  I  wish  Christmas  were  really  a  jovial  communal 
festival  and  that  I  were  going  to  spend  it  with  you.  But 
we  of  this  generation  are  destined  to  be  rather  stage  car- 
penters than  actors  in  the  drama  of  life — and  jovial  com- 
munal festivals,  like  many  other  things,  must  be  enjoyed 
mentally  in  anticipation. 


The  above  letter  was  written  during  a  week  (23  to  29  December) 
which  he  spent  at  the  cottage  that  had  been  lent  to  him,  quite 
alone,  except  that  A.  Y.  Campbell  joined  him  there  for  the  last 
two  days.  He  records  in  his  journal :  "  27  December,  1908. — C. 
arrived.  Talked  a  lot  to  him.  On  the  28th  had  an  especially 
long  discussion  on  the  essence  of  tragedy,  which  he  illustrated 
excellently  from  Sophocles'  '  Antigone.'  This  was  mostly  on  a  long 
walk  on  a  delightful  frosty  morning  during  which  we  visited  the 
Greek  theatre  at  Bradfield  school,  C.  declaiming  magnificently  to 
me  from  the  stage.  I  still  have  hopes  that  I  may  become  more 
civilized  in  time." 

On  soth  December  Ben  turned  up  quite  unexpectedly  at  Bath, 
where  I  and  my  son  were  staying.  He  wanted  to  consult  me  as 
to  various  schemes  that  had  been  taking  shape  in  his  mind.  "  I 
had  been  thinking  a  good  deal,"  he  writes  in  his  journal,  "  at  the 
cottage  about  the  possibility  of  starting  out  to  earn  my  living  in 
the  '  wild  places  of  the  earth  '  (as  dear  Hugh  says)  with  £20  in  my 
pocket,  trying  to  work  my  way  round  the  world  in  two  years  or 
so,  starting  in  the  spring.  Had  decided,  at  any  rate,  to  let  the  idea 
simmer.  I  had  discussed  the  idea  with  M.  on  the  preceding  even- 
ing. She  insisted  very  wisely  on  the  need  for  me  to  mature  myself 
now  ;  was  not  hostile  to  the  idea,  but  felt  more  strongly  the  need 


WALWORTH  45 

for  me  to  put  more  direct  purpose  into  my  life  ;    urged  me  again 
to  try  for  a  Trinity  Fellowship." 

From  Bath  he  went  to  Cumberland  to  join  Dr.  McCleary  and 
some  friends  of  his  in  rock-climbing,  an  exercise  that  Ben  loved 
but  in  which  he  was  only  a  beginner  and  a  clumsy  one. 

FROM  HIS  JOURNAL. 

4  January,  1909. 

I  went  up  Moss  Ghill  with  H.  and  G.  Did  pretty  well, 
only  had  to  be  helped  with  the  rope  slightly  in  two  places. 
Walked  to  summit  of  Scawfell.  Had  glorious  views, 
especially  coming  down.  The  reflections  in  Wast  water 
particularly  beautiful.  Mist  only  on  top  of  Scawfell. 

Have  been  talking  to  McCleary  and  thinking  a  good 
deal  about  political  science,  particularly  in  the  way  of 
social  psychology,  here.  I  think  I  may  yet  write  some- 
thing for  a  Trinity  Fellowship,  or  at  any  rate  for  a  D.Sc. 
at  the  School  of  Economics,  to  which  my  South  African 
work,  the  Webbs'  and  M.'s  influence  in  making  my  political 
thought  more  constructive,  my  experience  in  politics  and 
social  work,  my  general  historical  and  economic  reading, 
and  a  future  study  of  psychology  and  political  theory  will 
all  contribute.  I  have  been  making  a  good  many  notes 
lately,  starting  with  a  vague  "  theory  of  social  power." 

I  feel  very  keen  in  plunging  back  to  work.  I  feel  more 
definite  about  it  now.  I  have  three  things  to  occupy 
myself  with — (i)  reading  with  a  view  to  writing  something, 
(2)  school-feeding,  (3)  "  Facts  for  Southwark  "  tract.  They 
all  fit  in  together  rather  well.  Besides  this  I  shall  have 
a  little  Socialist  lecturing,  the  Labour  Party  and  possibly 
I.L.P.  Congress,  and  a  more  or  less  passive  membership 
of  the  I.L.P.  in  Southwark.  This  will  mean  a  good  deal 
more  concentrated  effort  than  in  the  last  three  months. 

WALWORTH.   n   January,  1909. 

I  have  been  mainly  occupied  to-day  with  school- 
feeding.  I  ladled  gravy  for  170  children,  and  en- 
deavoured to  persuade  a  few  not  to  suck  their  knives, 
between  twelve  and  three  o'clock. 

My  baby  with  fits  has  not  yet  visited  the  hospital,  and 
its  mother  is  now  apparently  in  no  condition  to  take  it. 


46  KEELING  LETTERS 

I  am  almost  in  despair,  but  I  visited  the  hospital  this 
afternoon  and  have  written  to  E.  M.  to  help  me  take 
it  there  to-morrow. 

Only  twenty  children  from  my  own  school  are  being  fed. 
I  am  taking  charge  of  them  personally  to-morrow.  I 
believe  I  shall  not  have  the  face  to  say  grace  when  it  comes 
to  the  point. 

To  Mrs.  Townshcnd. 

THE  NATIONAL  LIBERAL  CLUB. 

2  February,  1909.     10.30. 

I  am  devoting  all  my  energies  to  this  Care  Committee 
organization  work.  It  is  a  splendid  experience  in  ele- 
mentary administration,  though  perhaps  a  little  too  much 
trying  to  make  bricks  without  straw ;  it  is  so  hard  to  get 
any  helpers  at  all,  and  still  harder  to  get  people  of  insight 
and  intelligence  and  energy. 

I  am  a  little  afraid  of  seeing  you  just  now.  I  am  moving 
rapidly  farther  and  farther  away  from  your  political  prin- 
ciples. I  am  having  so  many  experiences  of  different 
kinds  just  now  which  compel  me  to  regard  the  doings 
and  still  more  the  sayings  of  party  politics  more  and  more 
as  the  merest  surface  foam.  And  though  I  believe  I 
am  becoming  more  and  more  tolerant  at  bottom,  I  find 
it  hardest  of  all  to  be  tolerant  of  the  particular  brand  of 
political  talkers  with  whom  I  am  brought  most  in  contact. 
But  the  Portsmouth  Conference  strengthened  my  faith 
in  the  big  trade  unionist  leaders.  They  represent  the 
force  which  has  driven  the  biggest  wedge  into  the  area 
of  competitive  industry,  although  there  is  a  danger  that 
they  may  fail  to  see  (even  more  than  the  Socialists  fail  to 
see)  the  crying  need  for  a  strong  State,  as  against  a  multi- 
farious State. 

I  have  been  quite  informally  approached  about  two 
L.C.C.  seats.  I  shall  see  a  little  closer  what  I  think  of 
prospects  in  that  direction.  But  I  rather  fancy  that  in 
a  few  months  I  shall  be  some  thousands  of  miles  away, 
finding  out  what  it  really  is  to  be  a  proletarian.  The 
impulse  recurs  again  and  again,  and  I  have  learnt  so  much 
in  these  few  months  that  I  feel  I  must  go  much  deeper. 


WALWORTH  47 

But  I  have  little  time  or  energy  left  to  sift  things  out  now. 
I  am  satisfied  with  things  for  the  present.  I  feel  that  I 
have  got  plenty  of  purpose  in  life  and  could  not  be  finding 
things  out,  or  indeed  doing  much  more  than  I  am  at 
present. 

I  have  stopped  going  to  the  opera,  as  I  found  it  made 
me  too  tired  to  do  this  work  properly. 

I  got  a  glorious  draught  of  air  and  splendid  scenery  and 
sunshine  on  Sunday  in  Surrey.  I  hope  to  tramp  with 
R—  -  next  Sunday. 


The  good  resolutions  as  to  work  and  mental  discipline  with 
which,  as  we  have  seen,  this  new  year  (1909)  had  begun  were  over- 
thrown by  an  insurgence  of  those  emotional  forces  that  he  was  so 
apt  to  leave  out  of  account.  This  sort  of  interruption  occurs  in 
the  life  of  most  men,  but  Ben's  volcanic  energy  and  self-centred 
habit  of  mind  served  to  turn  it  into  a  tragedy.  He  was  far  too 
immature  for  marriage  (only  twenty-two,  and  in  some  respects 
young  for  his  age)  and  quite  unfitted  by  his  crude  theories  of  life 
for  the  give  and  take  of  domestic  companionship.  Things  might 
have  righted  themselves  in  time,  but,  unfortunately,  in  his  revolt 
against  the  entanglements  and  perplexities  of  his  new  relationship, 
he  grasped  the  first  opportunity  that  offered  of  an  entire  change 
of  scene  and  work — a  change  that  deprived  him  for  a  time  of  the 
society  of  his  equals  and  tended  to  emphasize  his  worst  faults. 

FROM  HIS  JOURNAL. 

28  May,  1909. 

My  resolutions  as  to  diary-keeping  have  been  typical. 
However,  I  have  not  lost  the  desire  to  write  down  my  im- 
pressions from  time  to  time,  and  this  period,  from  29 
January  to  28  May,  has  not  been  uneventful.  At  least 
it  has  included  one  of  the  crises  of  my  life. 

I  am  now  sitting  on  the  upper  deck  of  D.'s  steam  yacht 
enjoying  a  delightful  passage  from  Salcombe  to  Exmouth. 
I  feel  in  a  sane  mood  for  recording  things. 

I  have  fallen  in  love  and  married.  ...  I  regret  nothing. 

I  look  across  a  smooth,  dark  green  sea  to  the  red,  rocky 
cliffs,  showing  here  and  there  through  vegetation  ;  above 
them  rich  rolling  green  fields  and  above  them  again  a 
bank  of  clouds,  white  and  grey,  and  strong  sunshine 


48  KEELING  LETTERS 

overhead.  And  I  feel  a  rich,  satisfied  joy  in  all  that  I 
rarely  if  ever  knew  before. 

A  single  glance  at  R.  when  we  were  sitting  side  by  side 
in  the  back  row  of  the  gallery  at  Covent  Garden  at  a  per- 
formance of  the  "  Ring  "  began  it  all.  It  is  good  to  have 
Wagner  as  one  link  in  the  chain. 

For  five  or  six  Sundays  in  succession  we  tramped  in 
the  country,  in  Kent  along  the  Pilgrims'  Road  and  then 
to  Gravesend ;  from  Wokingham  to  Ascot,  resting  for 
an  hour  in  a  pinewood  near  the  hut  in  February  sunshine, 
anticipatory  of  spring.  We  missed  our  train  at  Ascot, 
and  I  ran  eight  miles  to  Windsor  to  catch  another  for 
an  I.L.P.  lecture  in  Hammersmith.  Then  another  Sunday 
we  walked  in  snow  to  Tunbridge  Wells,  where  I  was  lectur- 
ing in  the  evening.  I  nearly  spoke  then.  The  next 
night,  or  the  next  but  one,  I  was  up  at  her  rooms  at  Thorn- 
hill  Houses  to  spend  the  evening  with  her.  A  momentary 
glimpse  of  her  from  the  side,  sitting  in  a  dark  blue  pinafore 
over  the  kitchen  fire,  overcame  me.  We  went  out  together 
into  the  streets  and  I  told  her  I  loved  her. 

We  decided  to  marry  but  not  to  set  up  house  together. 
We  were  married  on  the  1.5th  May  at  1.15  at  the 
Southwark  Town  Hall.  M.  and  Dudley,  who  was  staying 
with  me,  were  witnesses. 

1  believe  the  next  day  was  the  happiest  I  have  ever 
spent  in  my  life.  R.  was  looking  glorious  in  a  light  green 
dress  with  white  silk  embroidery.  We  slacked  all  day.  In 
the  early  afternoon  we  walked  up  the  river  a  little  way,  taking 
a  ferry  across  and  back  again  from  the  Bishop's  park. 

Such  is  a  general  summary  of  my  history  for  the  last 
four  months.  I  would  go  through  it  all  again  if  I  had 
the  choice.  I  do  not  regret  my  marriage  in  any  way. 
What  is  in  the  future  I  have  not  the  faintest  idea.  But 
the  present  is  well  worth  living.  I  am  looking  forward 
with  an  anticipation  of  joy  that  I  have  rarely  known  to 
life  in  Buckinghamshire  with  R. 


WALWORTH  49 

I  have  felt  George  Meredith's  death  more  than  I  have 
ever  felt  the  death  of  any  literary  man.  I  have  just  started 
reading  his  poems  and  revel  in  "  Love  in  a  Valley."  R. 
has  stirred  up  the  Meredithian  spirit  in  me.  Since  I 
came  down  to  D.'s  yacht  (yesterday)  I  have  read  "  Love 
and  Mr.  Lewisham."  It  is  Wells  at  his  best ;  in  some 
respects  it  is  better  than  "  Kipps  "  or  "  Tono  Bungay." 

A  great  deal  that  I  have  written  in  this  book  looks  crude 
and  stupid  and  boyish  even  now.  But  I  shall  destroy 
nothing.  It  was  what  I  felt  as  I  could  best  express  it 
at  the  time. 

2  August,  1909. 

Writing  in  cabin  of  a  steamer  on  Lago  Maggiore,  in 
a  thunder-storm.  Have  been  staying  a  couple  of  days 
at  Stresa  with  R.  M.  and  C.  Glorious  weather  till  the 
last  half-hour.  Both  yesterday  and  to-day  we  spent 
many  hours  on  the  lake  in  a  boat  bathing  and  sunning 
ourselves.  We  rowed  over  from  Stresa  to  the  opposite 
bank,  near  a  tiny  village  called  Santa  Caterina.  Yesterday 
afternoon,  as  it  was  very  hot,  we  found  a  deliciously  cool 
cleft  in  the  rocks  and  tied  the  boat  up  in  it.  From  it 
we  could  see  the  snow  mountains  in  the  distance  and 
across  the  lake  to  Pallanza.  The  whole  situation  was 
splendid.  R.  was  like  a  regular  mermaid  on  the  rocks. 

I  have  now  been  married  two  and  a  half  months  and 
have,  unfortunately,  not  carried  out  the  resolution  I  made 
while  yachting  with  D.  to  resume  writing  my  journal 
regularly.  .  .  .  The  month  of  June  I  spent  partly  in  Mis- 
senden  and  partly  in  London,  where  I  was  mainly  occupied 
with  working  for  Mrs.  Webb's  National  Committee  to 
Promote  the  Break-up  of  the  Poor  Law. 

At  Missenden  I  endeavoured  to  concentrate  on  Roman 
Law,  but  the  joys  of  living  there  with  R.  did  not  promote 
work. 

I  shall  always  look  back  on  that  month  as  one  of  the  most 
valuable  of  my  life.  R.  made  the  cottage  a  delightful 
place  in  appearance.  She  produced  that  clean,  simple 
atmosphere  which  always  surrounds  her  and  her  mother.  .  .  . 
She  harmonizes  with  an  English  rural  environment  better 
than  any  one  I  know.  I  think  of  sweet-smelling  grass 

5 


50  KEELING  LETTERS 

lanes  and  beechwoods  and  the  clean,  whitewashed  kitchen 
and  bedroom  and  the  scullery  where  I  slush  about  in  the 
morning  and  shout  Wagner. 

At  the  beginning  of  July,  M.,  R.,  C.,  and  I  went  to  stay 
with  a  friend  of  M.'s  at  a  chalet  at  St.  Beatenberg  on  the 
Lake  of  Thun. 

Miss  Paget  (a  great  friend  of  our  hostess)  was  there,  too, 
part  of  the  time.  She  and  I  did  not  like  one  another. 
She  was  repelled  by  my  crude,  impulsive  self-assertiveness. 
I  do  not  think  she  was  altogether  just  to  me,  nor  I  to  her. 
But  I  had  some  interesting  talks  with  her. 

After  the  fortnight  at  Beatenberg,  where  I  read  some 
Roman  Law  and  walked,  mostly  alone,  C.  and  I  set  out 
on  a  four  days'  tour.  R.  was  not  able  to  do  much  walking 
owing  to  the  coming  infant,  so  she  went  on  with  M.  to 
Aqua  Rossa,  where  M.  was  going  to  do  a  cure. 

C.  and  I  walked  the  first  day  (mostly  in  rain  or  mist) 
via  Interlaken  to  the  Grosse  Scheidegg.  The  other  three 
days  were  very  fine.  On  the  second  we  got  up  at  5  a.m. 
and  saw  the  sun  rise  over  the  mountains.  We  then 
walked  via  Rosenlaui  to  the  Grimsel  hospice.  We  had 
meant  to  get  over  the  mountains  to  the  Rhone  Vallej/  on 
the  same  evening,  but  there  was  snow  on  the  path,  mist 
came  on,  and  the  hour  was  getting  late,  so  we  gave  up 
the  attempt  and  slept  at  the  crowded  hotel.  The  follow- 
ing day  we  walked  in  glorious  sunshine  to  Obergestellen 
and  then  over  the  Gries  glacier  to  the  Tosa  Falls.  The 
reaches  of  valley  between  the  glacier  and  the  Falls  were 
full  of  the  most  glorious  flowers  I  have  seen  in  Switzer- 
land. They  were  not  very  much  wooded,  and  the  little 
hamlets  were  not  occupied  as  the  cattle  do  not  go  up 
there  till  a  little  later  in  the  year. 

From  the  Tosa  Falls  on  the  following  day  we  took  a 
guide  and  went  over  the  Antobbia  glacier  to  San  Carlo. 
We  enjoyed  tobogganing  down  the  snow  slopes  on  the 
Swiss  side  of  the  mountains  tremendously.  There  was, 
however,  a  long,  stony  path  down  the  cliffs  above  San 
Carlo  which  we  found  rather  trying.  We  arrived  there 
rather  tired  and  rested  for  a  couple  of  hours  at  the  tiny 
inn  In  the  evening  we  walked  down  the  valley,  I  think 


WALWORTH  51 

the  deepest  I  have  ever  seen,  to  Bignano.  I  felt  rather 
unwell  and  collapsed  temporarily  at  one  point  on  the  way. 
The  moment  we  got  to  the  inn  I  went  to  bed.  I  got 
into  rather  a  fever  and  talked  about  all  sorts  of  things 
half  consciously.  C.  nursed  me  splendidly.  I  felt  very 
grateful  and  rather  small,  as  I  had  been  somewhat  impatient 
with  her  rate  of  progress  on  the  glacier.  R.  came  next 
day  and  C.  left  on  the  Friday  for  Aqua  Rossa. 

R.  and  I  then  went  up,  on  the  doctor's  advice,  to  Fusio, 
a  cool  place  at  the  top  of  the  valley,  and  stayed  there  for 
a  week.  I  read  some  Law  and  walked,  partly  with  R., 
more  often  alone.  The  valley  above  Fusio  was,  I  think, 
the  most  beautiful  I  have  ever  seen.  The  shades  of  colour, 
green  and  grey,  were  softer  than  on  the  north  side  of  the 
Alps,  but  the  poverty  of  the  peasants  about  Fusio  and 
the  squalor  of  the  village,  in  spite  of  its  beauty  on  the 
hillside,  were  rather  repugnant  to  me.  The  inn,  too,  was 
not  very  attractive,  so  we  left  at  the  end  of  a  week's  stay, 
met  M.  and  C.  at  Locarno,  and  took  the  steamer  to  Stresa. 
(I  walked  down  to  Bignano  early  in  the  morning,  while 
R.  took  the  diligence.  The  walk  in  the  early  morning  air, 
between  5.30  and  8.15,  was  delightful  and  cool,  as  the 
sun  did  not  come  over  the  mountain  till  7.30.) 

I  had  been  growing  a  little  concerned  about  my  future 
relations  with  R.  during  the  week  at  Fusio.  I  think  it 
was  largely  unnecessary,  and  due  mainly  to  the  fact  that 
I  have  had  nothing  but  female  society  for  the  last  month 
and  have  rather  craved  for  a  hearty  male  oath  (not 
but  what  C.  and  R.  can  swear  quite  naturally  on  occasion). 
I  felt  as  I  have  felt  all  along,  except  perhaps  for  a  short 
time  when  very  much  exhilarated  at  Missenden,  that  I  did 
not  want  to  set  up  house  regularly  with  R.  I  can  see 
that  I  should  begin  to  long  for  the  cut  and  slash  of  political 
and  other  discussions  if  I  were  boxed  up  with  her  alone 
to  such  an  extent  that  I  should  become  dissatisfied  with  her, 
and  blind  to  her  fine  sides.  Also  I  began  to  think  about 
my  future  relations  to  my  child,  and  came  (I  think,  after 
talking  to  M.)  to  an  unnecessarily  clear-cut  and  dog- 
matic idea  that  if  I  were  not  to  live  in  more  or  less  the 
ordinary  way  with  R.  I  should  have  no  right  to  share 


52  KEELING  LETTERS 

in  the  decisions  to  be  made  with  regard  to  its  education, 
about  which  I  might  possibly  not  always  agree  with  R. 
At  the  same  time,  I  began  to  feel  that  in  leaving  and  coming 
to  R.  just  as  I  feel  inclined,  though  I  do  her  no  injury, 
even  from  a  moral  point  of  view,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  and 
certainly  do  not  make  her  unhappy,  I  appear  again  rather 
too  much  in  the  guise  of  the  egoist  for  my  liking  ;  using 
my  relations  with  another  person  rather  as  stepping-stones 
to  experience  for  my  own  development  than  as  ends  in 
themselves,  a  soul-union. 

I  am  going  to  Cambridge  after  a  few  hours  in  Walworth, 
mainly  to  settle  up  I.L.P.  affairs.  At  Cambridge  I  shall 
read  Law  and  jaw  to  old  friends  for  a  day  or  two.  On 
the  27th  I  go  to  Wales,  where  Hugh  has  taken  a  farm- 
house near  the  F.S.S.  Before  I  go  there  I  hope  to  have 
a  week  or  ten  days  at  Missenden  with  R. 

To  A.  Y.  Campbell. 

57  LIVERPOOL  ST.,  WALWORTH,  S.E. 

19  August,  1909. 

I  sent  you  this  afternoon  a  copy  of  Murray's  "  Greek 
Epic  "  which  I  think  you  said  you  would  be  using  in  the 
next  few  weeks.  Our  friend  D.  would  deride  my  inscrip- 
tion x  with  heavy  chortlings.  Nevertheless  ...  I  am 
full  of  joie  de  vivre  to-day.  I  believe  I  have  a  very  good 
chance  of  getting  a  Labour  Exchange  appointment  in  a 
few  weeks.  I  may  be  going  to  Germany  in  ten  days  to 
see  Exchanges  there  and  inquire  about  some  points  which 
I  am  investigating  with  a  view  to  an  article,  pamphlet, 
or  memorandum.  On  28th  inst.  I  am  to  meet  Winston 
Churchill — who  will  have  a  great  deal  to  do  with  Labour 
Exchange  appointments — at  dinner  at  the  Webbs'.  So 
I  shall  be  back  from  Germany  by  then  anyhow.  Do 
let  me  see  you  for  a  day  anyhow  before  you  go  to  Reading 
— either  in  town  or  at  Missenden. 

To-night ,  myself,  and and are  going  to  see 

the  "  Meistersinger." 

1  "  To  A.  Y.  C.  from  his  friend  F.  K.  in  memory  of  Sunday 
interchanges  of  wisdom." 


WALWORTH  53 

I  am  still  revelling  in  Murray's  translation  of  the 
"Bacchae."  The  page  lies  open  before  me. 

What  else  is  wisdom  ?    What  of  man's  endeavour 
Or  God's  high  grace  so  lovely  and  so  great  ? 
To  stand  from  fear  set  free,  to  breathe  and  wait ; 
To  hold  a  hand  uplifted  over  Hate  ; 

And  shall  not  loveliness  be  lord  for  ever  ? 

And  they  win  their  will,  or  they  miss  their  will, 
And  the  hopes  are  dead  or  are  pined  for  still ; 

But  whoe'er  can  know, 

As  the  long  days  go, 
That  to  live  is  happy  hath  found  his  heaven  ! 

And  I  dream  of  that  other  chorus — 

Where  is  the  home  for  me  ? 
O  Cyprus,  set  in  the  sea, 
Aphrodite's  home  in  the  soft  sea-foam. 

But  a  better  land  is  there 

Where  Olympus  cleaves  the  air, 
The  high,  still  dell  where  the  Muses  dwell, 

Fairest  of  all  things  fair  ! 

Oh  there  is  Grace,  and  there  is  the  Heart's  Desire, 
And  peace  to  adore  thee,  thou  Spirit  of  Guiding  Fire  ! 

Religion  in  its  individual  aspect  is  the  power  that  binds 
a  man's  moods  together.  I  would  that  I  had  that  mighty 
force — which  enables  the  mood  of  inspiration  to  cast  its 
glow  across  all  the  "hours  of  gloom"  in  which  most  of 
our  tasks  are  fulfilled — making  loveliness  a  thing  that  is 
really  "  loved  for  ever  "  and  not  merely  snapped  at  in 
ecstasies  and  groped  after  or  tolerated  in  the  shadows 
of  common  night.  Thus  soliloquizeth  Ben  the  Blas- 
phemous while  passing  Westminster  Abbey  this  afternoon. 

Have  you  seen  Rupert's  poems  in  the  English  Review  ? 
You  chafe  at  their  "  obscurity."  But  the  flanks  of  the 
beasts  and  their  steaming  lusts  gleam  plainly — if  naught 
else  does. 

I  believe  the  welfare  of  the  country  is  more  entirely 
at  stake  over  this  Budget  than  it  has  ever  been  over  a  single 


54  KEELING  LETTERS 

issue  for  many  a  long  year.  I  would  sacrifice  anything 
if  its  passing  depended  on  that.  I  believe  we  are  going 
to  win  whether  the  Lords  attempt  to  fight  or  no.  It  will 
be  a  mighty  chisel  stroke  in  the  fashioning  of  our  Res 
publica  out  of  this  shapeless  rock  that  we  worship  in  faith 
for  what  it  shall  be. 

And  shall  not  loveliness  be  loved  for  ever  ? 

But  whoe'er  can  know, 
As  the  long  days  go,  .  .  . 


To  Mrs.  Townshcnd. 

MlSSENDEN. 

6  September,  1909.     Sunday  night. 

I  returned  from  Wales  on  Saturday  and  have  been  here 
for  the  week-end.  I  am  coming  to  town  early  to-morrow 
and  shall  stay  there  continuously  till  I  go  to  Germany, 
except  for  next  week-end.  I  will  come  to  see  you  one 
night  in  the  course  of  the  week. 

I  am  very  glad  I  went  to  Wales  for  a  week.  The  society 
of  my  friends  and  one  or  two  tramps  on  the  mountains 
were  blessed.  I  feel  more  at  peace  with  myself  and  the 
universe. 

I  almost  hope  for  a  job  in  a  remote  provincial  town, 
where  I  shall  have  no  antecedents  and  can  spend  my  spare 
time  reading  in  solitude  and  turning  this  undigested  mass 
of  experience  which  has  made  up  my  life  into  some  shape. 
I  am  puzzled  how  I  am  to  work  things  with  R.  if  I 
am  sent  a  couple  of  hundred  miles  away.  But  1  will 
find  a  definite  solution  and  then  Peace  ! — and  I  will  pray 
for  a  respite  from  personal  incidents  in  my  life  till  I  am, 
say,  thirty. 

Bureaucracy  and  reading  shall  absorb  me  entirely  if  I 
can  so  contrive  it — bar  my  old  friendships.  I  feel  my 
interest  in  literature  growing  a  great  deal  stronger.  I 
intend  definitely  to  try  to  make  it  replace  personal  attrac- 
tions in  my  life  as  much  as  I  can.  I  am  sick  of  having 
my  power  of  dominating  the  course  of  events  made  less 
than  it  might  be  by  distractions  and  uncontrollable  moods. 


WALWORTH  55 

FROM  HIS  JOURNAL. 

WALWORTH. 

24  October,  1909. 

I  have  been  living  here  with  Ashley  Dukes  for  nearly 
two  months.  I  have  seen  very  little  indeed  of  R.  I 
have  been  fairly  happy,  but  have  been  haunted  from  time 
to  time  by  evil  spirits.  To-day  I  have  been  feeling  par- 
ticularly gloomy.  Ever  since  that  time  in  Switzerland 
I  have  been  puzzling  again  and  again  about  the  nature 
of  right  conduct.  The  week  I  spent  at  Cambridge  was 
not  a  particularly  cheerful  one.  I  enjoyed  meeting  old 
friends,  but  I  was  troubled  by  the  thought  of  my  relations 
with  R.  continually.  From  Cambridge  I  went  to  Missenden, 
where  I  stopped  a  week  with  R.  I  next  spent  about  five 
days  with  Brian  and  Miss  G.  at  Hindhead,  and  then  went 
to  Llanbedr  for  a  week,  staying  in  a  farmhouse  with  Hugh 
and  two  other  Cambridge  Fabians.  Early  in  September 
I  came  here. 

I  never  realized  so  clearly  what  an  infernally  difficult 
business  life  is,  once  you  abandon  some  sort  of  tradition  as 
a  guide.  It  seems  clear  that  there  must  be  some  sort 
of  tradition  for  the  mass  of  men,  if  only  to  avoid  the 
enormous  expenditure  of  energy  which  anarchists  like 
myself  are  let  in  for. 

I  can't  get  away  from  the  fact  that  I  am  not  by  any 
means  satisfied  about  my  relations  with  other  people 
generally.  In  point  of  fact,  I  feel  damned  lonely.  I  have 
hardly  seen  anything  of  M.  or  of  R.  I  like  and  admire 
Ashley  tremendously.  But  I  feel  I  want  to  love  and  be 
loved  and  to  be  able  to  express  my  affections.  I  feel  a 
curious  resemblance  between  my  relations  to  M.  and  R. 
now  and  my  relations  to  my  mother  when  I  was  a  boy. 
Not  in  detail.  But  I  feel  that  I  want  ever  so  much  to 
have  that  happiness  that  comes  from  living  in  affection 
with  some  one.  I  have  got  a  sort  of  craving  for  it. 
And  I  feel  that  something,  I  don't  know  what,  prevents 
me  from  securing  the  relation  which  I  want.  I  wonder 
if  there  is  something  fundamentally  wrong  in  my 
character  or  my  outlook.  Perhaps  I  am  destined  all 
my  life  to  this.  I  don't  know.  It  makes  me  miserable. 


56  KEELING  LETTERS 

I  have  been  reading  one  or  two  of  Murray's  translations 
of  Euripides  lately,  also  his  wonderful  Introduction  to  the 
volume  that  contains  the  "  Bacchae  "  and  "  Hippolytus." 
This  has  set  me  thinking.  It  seems  to  me  that  if  public 
affairs  are  the  main  interest  of  one's  life  there  is  a  great 
danger  that  one's  affections  will  come  to  be  dominated  by 
one's  intellectual  ideas.  I  wonder  whether  that  is  what  is 
wrong  with  me.  I  have  often  wrangled  with  M.  over  some 
political  question  and  then  been  angry  with  myself  after- 
wards. And  it  is  because  R.  does  not  share  my  intellectual 
interests  that  I  allow  myself  to  be  separated  from  her  now. 

Oh,  if  only  I  could  love,  love  plainly,  undisturbed  by 
the  clash  of  opinion,  love  my  friends,  love  all  men,  and 
have  some  one  very  close  lover  !  I  seem  to  be  made  lonely 
by  some  isolating  force. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  can't  get  away  from  the  fact  that, 
as  things  are,  I  find  the  intellectual  interchange  of  opinions 
with  friends  such  as  Archie  one  of  the  very  greatest 
pleasures  I  know,  an  almost  indispensable  thing  in  life. 

I  suppose  things  will  be  a  bit  clearer  when  my  son — I 
feel  it  is  more  likely  to  be  a  son — arrives.  I  have  dreamed 
for  a  long  time  to-day  about  a  little  baby's  hands  and  arms 
about  my  face,  and  about  kissing  a  little  baby's  lips.  There 
must  be  a  simple  way  of  life  if  only  I  could  see  it.  I  feel 
something  is  blinding  me.  I  feel  this  craving  for  love,  I 
know  there  is  love  waiting  for  me,  and  yet  I  cannot  go 
and  give  and  receive  it. 

29  October,  1909.     10.45. 

I  have  to-day  started  work  temporarily  with  the  Board 
of  Trade.  ...  I  feel  tolerably  cheerful  as  to  my  pros- 
pects of  work  and  experience.  But  I  am  beginning  to 
see  that  I  have  lived  with  an  utterly  false  conception  of 
many  things.  Love  and  affection  are  among  the  best 
things  in  life.  The  trouble  is  that  for  me  they  seem  to 
get  hopelessly  entangled  with  enthusiasm  for  intellectual 
conceptions,  and  when  my  opinions  change  love  is  broken 
though  the  craving  for  it  remains. 

What  is  the  use  of  success  if  there  is  no  one  to  rejoice 
with  you  ?  Satisfaction  in  bettering  the  lot  of  masses 
of  people  is  good,  but  it  is  cold  and  lonely. 


CHAPTER    IV 

LEEDS 

JANUARY,  1910,  TO  JUNE,  1911  (AGED  23-4) 

KEELING'S  wish  for  a  post  in  a  "  remote  provincial  town  "  was 
unfortunately  fulfilled.  He  became  manager  in  January  1910  of 
the  Leeds  Labour  Exchange,  and  was  able  to  start  life  entirely 
afresh,  plunging  with  enormous  zest  into  work  which  would  have 
been  uncongenial  to  most  men  of  his  upbringing,  but  which,  for 
him,  was  full  of  interest  and  even  of  fascination. 

The  entire  change  of  work  and  of  environment  enabled  him  to 
thrust  aside  and  apparently  to  forget  his  responsibilities  as  husband 
and  father  in  a  way  that  was  quite  incomprehensible  to  many  of 
his  friends.  It  is  impossible  to  excuse  the  extraordinary  egotism 
of  his  outlook  at  this  time.  In  order  to  understand  it,  one  must 
recognize  that,  impulsive  though  he  was,  he  yet  acted  far  more  on 
theory  than  most  men,  and  that  he  was  thoroughly  imbued  with 
the  views  as  to  marriage  which  he  found,  or  thought  that  he  found, 
in  the  writings  of  G.  Bernard  Shaw,  whom  he  reverenced  as  the 
greatest  living  expert  in  conduct.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  he 
went  to  Leeds  convinced  that  the  right  thing  for  him  to  do  was 
to  devote  himself  wholly  to  public  work,  and  to  cut  himself  off 
entirely  from  the  everyday  pleasures  and  everyday  worries  of  what 
he  used  to  call  "  damned  domesticity."  He  persuaded  himself 
that  his  wife,  for  whose  courage  and  independence  of  character 
he  had  the  greatest  admiration,  was  eminently  suited  to  stand 
alone.  Having  provided,  as  he  considered,  for  the  maintenance  of 
wife  and  child  (he  had,  at  this  time,  very  ascetic  notions,  shared 
by  his  wife,  as  to  personal  expenditure),  his  one  desire  for  the 
moment  was  to  regain  entire  independence  of  action  and  to  fling 
himself  untrammelled  into  his  new  duties. 

After  a  few  months,  his  wife  went  up  to  Yorkshire  with  her  baby 
and  found  a  little  cottage  at  Menstone  within  easy  reach  of  Leeds. 
He  went  there  pretty  often  and  took  his  friends  there,  but  he 
remained  entirely  engrossed  by  his  work  and  quite  irresponsive 
and  aloof  from  any  real  community  of  interests.  He  called  the 
place  "  R.'s  cottage,"  and  rather  ostentatiously  washed  his  hands 
of  all  responsibility.  There  was  no  definite  disagreement,  but  the 

57 


58  KEELING  LETTERS 

effort  made  by  his  wife  in  leaving  home  and  friends  for  his  sake 
was  so  ill-recompensed,  that  it  became  obviously  wiser,  when  it 
was  necessary  for  her  to  leave  the  Menstone  cottage,  to  return  to 
London,  and  no  further  attempt  at  a  common  home  was  ever  made. 

Any  memoir  of  Frederic  Keeling  which  omitted  these  facts  about 
his  personal  relations  would  be  misleading,  for  they  coloured  his 
after  life  and  throw  light  on  many  of  his  letters. 

Writing  several  years  later,  when  he  was  on  a  visit  to  Leeds,  he 
tells  me  how  much  he  had  enjoyed  revisiting  the  moors  he  liked 
so  much,  "  except  that,  when  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Menstone, 
I  felt  depressed  by  memories  of  the  incomparable  idiocy  of  my 
behaviour  there." 

To  E.  M.  S.i 

LABOUR  EXCHANGE,  MEADOW  LANE,  LEEDS. 
8  March,   1910. 

...  I  am  enjoying  life  hugely  here.  I  live  in  an  attic 
at  the  top  of  the  Exchange,  and  am  gradually  reducing 
myself  to  a  fruit  and  nut  diet  which  makes  for  great  physical 
efficiency  and  saves  cooking  and  the  other  various  arts 
which  involve  the  attendance  of  woman  upon  man. 

I  am,  of  course,  not  satisfied  with  the  way  things  are 
going.  We  only  placed  265  in  February  and  have  not 
got  up  to  twenty  a  day  yet.  But  I  plug  in,  and  it  suits 
me  down  to  the  ground.  I  have  no  social  life  and  avoid 
it  as  much  as  possible.  My  job  involves  speaking  to  about 
a  hundred  different  people  every  day,  and  by  the  time 
I  have  finished  about  six  o'clock  I  am  damned  sick  of 
human  personality.  I  never  turned  to  books,  memory, 
and  imagination  with  such  zest  in  my  life. 

I  generally  clear  out  of  Leeds  at  ten  o'clock  on  Saturday, 
and  walk  thirty  to  fifty  miles  on  Saturday  and  Sunday.  I 
am  thinking  of  running  over  to  Ireland  for  four  days  at 
Easter.  I  don't  think  I  want  a  cottage.  I  am  getting 
a  passion  for  living  with  the  minimum  of  worldly  goods 
to  bother  about.  I  have  four  good-sized  attics,  but  keep 
them  all  bare  and  clean — nothing  but  the  barest  necessities 
for  sitting,  eating,  sleeping,  and  reading. 

By  God  !  I  never  felt  so  free  in  all  my  life.     I  am  free 

1  The  "  Memoirs  of  F.  H.  K.  as  a  Student  of  Social  Problems," 
by  his  friend  Mr.  A.  Greenwood  (Appendix  II),  will  throw  light  on 
this  letter  and  those  which  follow  it. 


LEEDS  59 

of  ties—  human  and  material — free  of  care,  free  to  express 
myself  as  best  I  can  in  the  only  material  that  I  can  mould 
— the  raw  stuff  of  human  institutions.  It  is  a  great  life. 
It  is  so  free  because  nothing  but  my  own  will  prevents 
me  from  clearing  off  to  Manitoba  or  Western  Australia 
to-morrow. 

I  was  called  up  to  London  to  consult  about  various  details 
of  procedure  a  few  weeks  ago.  I  took  the  opportunity 
to  visit  my  daughter.  She  is  going  on  splendidly.  On 
the  whole  it  is  a  damned  interesting  thing  to  breed  about 
the  earth.  I  expect  my  daughter  will  dislike  me  violently. 
But  if  we  happen  to  hit  it  off  all  right,  it  will  be  rather 
amusing  when  we  are  both  of  an  age  to  be  able  to  be  young 
together.  Perhaps  I  shall  change  in  ten  years,  I  don't 
know.  But  I  have  got  a  passion  for  two  inexplicable 
things  which  I  call  Truth  and  Facts,  and  that  passion 
makes  me  feel  that  the  sentiment  which  makes  a  man 
want  to  live  constantly  with  a  woman  may  be  bad  as  well 
as  good.  .  .  .  However,  I  am  no  propagandist  on  these 
questions  now,  I  am  too  conscious  of  my  own  limitations. 
I  have  too  great  a  sense  of  the  difficulty  of  doing  anything 
but  let  people  alone,  and,  by  God !  if  the  world  doesn't  let 
me  alone  in  my  ways  it  may  maim  me,  but  I  will  let  it 
feel  my  teeth  somehow  and  some  time  and  know  that  they 
are  pretty  sharp. 

I  wish  you  could  get  a  really  good  job.  If  you  want 
to  sufficiently — if  you  will  give  up  everything  else  for  it 
sufficiently — you  will,  although  it  is  harder  for  a  woman 
than  a  man.  But  the  openings  for  women  are  growing 
so  rapidly  now. 

I  am  getting  a  passion  for  studying  this  place.  I  have 
had  a  unique  life  in  my  chances  of  seeing  different  classes 
of  society — really  getting  to  know  them.  I  am  pushing  on 
my  experience  in  that  direction  as  much  as  I  can.  I  have 
even  joined  the  Leeds  Club — the  exclusive  snobbish  club 
of  the  place — for  the  purpose  of  observing  the  habits  of 
employers  more  closely.  The  only  way  to  be  sure  of 
defeating  a  man  is  to  be  able  to  beat  him  at  his  own  game. 
We  have  got  to  be  able  to  be  better  capitalists  than  the 
capitalists  aie.  When  we — that  is,  the  administrative 


60  KEELING  LETTERS 

classes — have  more  will,  more  relentlessness,  more  aus- 
terity, more  organizing  ability,  more  class  consciousness 
than  they  have,  we  shall  crumple  them  in  our  hands.  And, 
by  God !  you  and  I  may  live  to  see  the  beginning  of 
the  end. 

I  am  more  of  a  puritan  than  ever.  Austerity  is  what 
is  needed.  These  miserable  employers  are  poor  creatures 
in  many  ways.  They  eat  too  much  ;  they  drink  too  much  ; 
they  want  their  women  too  much.  By  God  !  I  will  out- 
Bacchus  any  man  when  I  choose.  But  it  shall  be  of  my 
free  choice — not  of  a  limp  necessity.  From  day  to  day 
my  dream  shall  be  of  a  new  model  army,  of  vigilant  ad- 
ministrators supplanting  property  by  organization  inch 
by  inch,  steadily  and  slowly — with  a  jovial  carouse  to 
loosen  the  muscles  now  and  again.  And  to  hell  with 
the  snufflers  and  the  pimps  alike.  They  shall  go  in 
pairs  one  of  each  to  a  hurdle  after  the  precedent  set  by 
Henry  VIII.  .  .  . 

There  are  very  few  women  who  can  administrate.  They 
are  the  women  whom  I  feel  are  more  than  any  other  the 
ones  who  will  cause  women  to  cease  to  drag  down  men. 
I  don't  mean  that  really,  but  it.  comes  near  to  being  true. 
I  think  it  really  is  true.  We  shall  never  be  civilized  till 
you  can  stand  on  your  own  legs.  Therefore  blame  your 
own  sex  for  causing  the  existence  of  the  uncivilized  product 
who  can  write  this  letter. 

To  Brian  Townshend. 

LABOUR  EXCHANGE,  LEEDS. 
3  April,  IQIO. 

I  needed  my  holiday  in  Ireland  more  than  I  have  ever 
needed  a  holiday  in  my  life.  I  had  a  great  time  in  the 
mountains  and  bogs  of  Donegal,  and  walked  most  of  the 
way  there  from  Belfast.  I  took  a  good  many  notes  of  my 
observations  and  feel  I  really  learned  something.  I  went 
to  Donegal  via  Derry  and  walked  to  Deny  by  way  of  the 
Sperrin  Mountains,  which  I  daresay  you  have  never 
heard  of — I  had  not  till  a  fortnight  ago.  These  mountains 
form  the  boundary  between  Derry  and  Tyrone.  There 
is  an  almost  idyllic  stretch  of  peasant  proprietorship 


LEEDS  61 

scenery  just  under  them.  I  stopped  at  a  little  place 
which  is  at  the  end  of  the  railway  and  ascended  the  hills 
from  there.  When  I  get  my  first  big  breakdown  I  think 
I  shall  go  and  live  near  there  for  some  months. 

The  Irish  home  industries  are  a  big  problem.  They 
are  ruining  the  health  of  the  women  in  many  of  the 
country  districts,  and  what  is  still  more  serious,  they 
cause  neglect  of  the  household  work  and  of  the  children. 
The  women  slave  all  day  and  stimulate  themselves  on 
tea.  The  housework  is  left  to  an  old  grandmother— or 
not  done  at  all.  I  am  more  and  more  certain  that  all 
work — even  craftsman's  work — should  be  done  in  a  factory 
where  everything  is  open  to  easy  and  effectual  inspection. 
The  home  is  not  the  place  for  work  under  any  circumstances. 
I  can  imagine  the  rage  of  the  aesthetic  Socialist — and  of 
the  Suffragette — at  such  opinions.  But  these  people 
are  not  seriously  concerned  with  social  organization  at  all. 

Two  general  impressions  have  stuck  very  strongly  in 
my  mind.  First,  that  the  Irish  peasant  is  ten  times  as 
intelligent  as  the  English  agricultural  labourer.  I  went 
to  Ireland  with  a  prejudice  against  the  Irish — as  I  am 
decidedly  a  Teuton  in  race  and  in  intellectual  outlook. 
Germany  is  far  less  foreign  to  me  than  Ireland.  But 
I  am  compelled  to  admit  that,  whatever  be  the  cause,  the 
Irish  peasant  is  far  more  alive  than  the  labourer  in  any 
rural  district  in  England  that  I  know. 

The  second  general  impression  was  that  the  proportion 
of  really  beautiful  women  in  the  Irish  rural  districts  was 
far  greater  than  in  the  English  towns.  Of  course  this 
is  only  natural.  But  I  have  only  just  realized,  after  a 
couple  of  years  in  the  middle  of  urban  districts,  that  you 
hardly  ever  see  a  really  beautiful  working-class  girl  and 
practically  never  a  beautiful  woman.  It  is  a  horrible 
thought. 

I  get  a  good  deal  of  solitude  now  and  want  nothing  else. 
I  have  a  good  deal  to  reflect  on.  I  was  twenty-four  last 
week,  and  I  feel  I  have  just  reached  maturity  in  the  last 
year  or  so  in  a  pretty  definite  sense.  I  have  no  very 
definite  idea  as  to  my  future,  except  as  to  the  immediate 
future,  which  is  mainly  concerned  with  pegging  away  at 


62  KEELING  LETTERS 

this  job.  I  enjoy  life  very  much  on  the  whole.  The 
only  thing  which  makes  me  a  bit  gloomy  at  times  is  a 
sort  of  sense  of  isolation.  I  find  myself  on  the  whole 
drifting  steadily  away  from  definite  human  ties.  Most 
of  my  friendships  were  based  on  a  community  of  intel- 
lectual interests,  and  as  I  come  more  and  more  to  grips 
with  the  facts  and  realities  of  life  as  I  see  them — or  think 
I  see  them — I  find  myself  building  my  own  tabernacle  of 
wisdom  which  is  invaluable  to  myself,  but  which  is  never- 
theless so  much  my  own  that  it  shuts  me  off  from  the  rest 
of  my  fellow-men,  at  any  rate  as  far  as  a  community  of 
intellectual  interests  goes.  I  know  that  the  wise  of  all 
generations  have  said  that  there  is  a  something  greater 
then  mere  opinion  as  a  basis  of  human  ties.  I  think  on 
the  whole  that  they  are  right.  W.  B.  Yeats  says  some- 
where that  opinions  arise  out  of  necessities  of  organization, 
while  ideas  arise — I  forget  his  exact  phrase,  but  I  think 
he  means  out  of  life  itself  direct.  And  Gilbert  Murray 
and  Edward  Carpenter  and  all  the  writers  I  love  best  are 
always  talking  about  these  beyond-intellect  phenomena. 
But  my  life  seems  more  and  more  destined  to  be  closed  to 
them.  I  care  more  for  the  State  than  I  care  or  have  ever 
cared  for  myself,  or  for  any  other  human  being.  Almost 
everyone  that  I  know  is  prepared  to  expound  his  political 
creed  in  a  few  sentences  ;  they  have  their  dogmas,  which 
are  be-all  and  end-all  to  them.  But  I  have  lost  all  my 
dogmas,  except  a  passionate  faith  in  the  development  of  a 
collectivist  spirit  in  relation  to  property  and  breeding.  I 
know  what  Carlyle  means  about  swallowing  all  formulae. 
And  I  feel  I  am  separated  from  those  who  still  have  their 
formula?,  their  party  loyalty,  or  their  sectarianism  as  their 
final  philosophy.  I  know  that  truth  is  not  in  these  things. 
I  know  that  the  basis  of  most  political  as  well  as  of  most 
religious  enthusiasm  is  that  it  is  more  enjoyable  to  believe 
than  to  probe.  But  it  is  not  well  for  a  politician  to  feel 
this.  And  in  spite  of  the  wise  of  all  generations  I  cannot 
restrain  myself  from  feeling  of  this  man  or  that  with  whom 
I  once  walked  in  intimacy  :  "  Oh,  but  he  still  clings  to  this 
party  cry  or  that  academic  generalization.  I  cannot  bear 
the  trouble  of  a  wrangle  with  him." 


LEEDS  63 

JOURNAL  POSTED  AS  A  LETTER  TO  MRS.  TOWNSHEND. 

NORWAY. 

May,  1910. 

When  one's  holidays  are  limited  to  twenty-one  working 
days  in  the  year  one  learns  to  be  economical  with  time, 
and  ingenious  in  the  disposition  of  it.  The  funeral  of 
the  King  occasioned  the  closing  of  business  for  an  extra 
day  in  Whit-week,  and  by  some  chance  inspiration  I 
decided  on  Thursday  12  May  to  go  to  Norway  for  a  week. 

I  sailed  from  Newcastle  at  seven  o'clock.  The  red- 
brick houses  along  the  riverside  of  South  Shields  appeared 
exceedingly  picturesque  in  the  evening  light,  but  I  was 
not  destined  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the  beginning  of 
a  sea  voyage  for  long,  the  swell  off  the  mouth  of  the  Tyne 
soon  compelling  me  to  retire  below.  I  was  sufficiently 
well  on  Sunday  morning  to  be  able  to  read  Baedeker  and 
some  novels.  I  finished  Hardy's  "  Under  the  Greenwood 
Tree."  It  does  not  possess  the  substance  of  "  Tess " 
or  "  Jude  the  Obscure,"  but  it  contains  an  extraordinarily 
subtle  and  interesting  study  of  a  woman.  The  conflict 
between  ancient  customs  and  modern,  or  rather  nineteenth- 
century,  habits  is  presented  in  a  double  guise — in  the 
life  of  a  woman  and  in  the  supplanting  of  the  old  church 
orchestra  by  the  organ.  The  subtle  interweaving  of 
these  two  motifs  appears  to  me  very  beautiful.  Although 
there  is  no  expression  of  opinion  on  the  writer's  part  at 
any  point,  yet  each  strain  is  made,  by  allusion  and  sugges- 
tion, to  throw  light  on  the  significance  of  the  details  of 
the  other.  The  study  of  the  typical  peasant  characters 
is  carried  through  in  Hardy's  best  style. 

On  Sunday  afternoon  the  breeze  died  down.  I  was 
able  to  sit  and  enjoy  the  sun  and  sea  on  deck.  I  made 
some  progress  with  McDougall's  "  Social  Psychology." 
His  analysis  of  the  nature  of  instincts  is  very  clear  and 
seems  to  me  to  be  sound. 

I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  J.  A.  D.  I  value  his  friendship 
very  highly.  His  character  always  brings  the  epithet 
"  heroic  "  to  my  mind  more  readily  than  that  of  any  other 
man  or  woman  that  1  know.  Both  in  his  activities  and 
in  his  limitations  he  is  one  of  the  most  essentially  English 


64  KEELING  LETTERS 

men  that  I  know.  He  is  one  of  the  very  small  minority 
of  Englishmen  who  make  our  forms  of  Government  actu- 
ally workable  in  practice.  But  this  minority  does  not 
consist  of  a  small  number  of  men  of  genius.  Those  who 
compose  it  are  distinguished  from  other  men  by  qualities 
which  I  think  may  be  justly  termed  ethical  as  opposed 
to  intellectual.  They  possess  a  more  developed  civic 
sense  and  a  larger  amount  of  patience  than  the  mass  of 
mankind.  Were  it  not  for  them  English  representative 
government — and  especially  local  government — would  sink 
beneath  the  accumulated  weight  of  pettiness,  ambition, 
and  greed  to  an  infinitely  lower  level  of  efficiency. 

In  the  evening  I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  M.,  but  I  felt 
a  sense  of  futility  about  it.  Reason  cannot  touch  stand- 
points rooted  in  personal  sentiment.  One  of  the  melan- 
choly reflections  which  has  been  haunting  me  for  some 
time  past  is  that  affection  appears  inevitably  to  distort 
insight  into  realities  even  in  the  strongest  intellects.  John 
Stuart  Mill's  estimate  of  his  wife  is  one  of  the  strongest 
cases  in  point.  I  suppose  the  "  mystic  "  would  answer 
me  by  a  rhapsodical  statement  to  the  effect  that  my  esti- 
mate of  the  nature  of  reality  is  an  arbitrary  one — that 
it  is  just  as  reasonable,  or  more  reasonable,  to  regard  Mill's 
estimate  of  his  wife  rather  than  the  world's  estimate  as 
"  true."  Such  a  statement  would  in  actual  life  merely 
have  the  effect  of  causing  me  to  lose  my  temper  in  sheer 
annoyance  at  the  tomfoolery  to  which  the  will  for  happi- 
ness leads  men.  If  I  retained  sufficient  coherence,  I 
should  reply  that  in  the  eyes  of  all  reasonable  men — even 
including  some  "  mystics" — this  argument  does  not  affect 
the  case  where  affection  leads  astray  an  estimate,  not  of 
the  personality  of  the  object  of  affection  but  of  external 
facts.  And  it  is  perfectly  patent  to  me  that  this  frequently 
does  happen. 

This  conflict  between  affection  and  insight  into  reality 
seems  to  me  one  of  the  most  tragic  things  in  life.  Why 
should  affection,  whether  or  no  it  inchides  sexual  attrac- 
tion, be  inseparable  from  illusion  ?  I  am  convinced 
that  this  is  so  in  the  vast  majority  of  cases  in  spite  of  the 
"  mystics'  "  talk  about  loving  because  of  defects  (analogous 


LEEDS  65 

to  credo  quia  incredibile).  I  would  rather  know  the  answer 
to  this  mystery  than  to  any  of  the  other  riddles  of  life. 
I  have  no  faith  in  the  "  mystics,"  because  without  excep- 
tion they  profess  to  reveal  a  ground  of  optimism  or  meliorism 
behind  the  veil.  The  unanimity  is  too  suspicious. 

'  The  wish  is  father  to  the  thought "  explains  half  of  the 
philosophies  and  nine-tenths  of  the  religions — at  any  rate 
of  the  religions  of  modern  Western  civilization. 

Perhaps  Thought  can  never  be  emancipated  completely 
from  Will.  As  Balfour  is  always  pointing  out,  Thought 
is,  biologically  and  sociologically  speaking,  merely  the 
tool  of  Will  expressing  itself  in  the  evolutionary  process. 
Thought  aspiring  upwards  independently  and  for  its  own 
sake  is  a  mere  bye-product — a  sickly  growth — containing 
within  itself  the  seed  of  decay,  and  doomed  to  be  cut  short 
or  gathered  in  to  serve  the  purposes  of  Will.  But  why 

—why — why  ?  Though  the  fruit  of  the  Tree  of  Know- 
ledge is  tasteless  where  it  is  not  bitter,  though  Love  and 
not  Beauty  or  Truth  is  the  only  pure  foundation  of  hap- 
piness, yet  were  I  a  second  Faust  faced  with  another 
Mephistopheles,  I  would  give  all  the  scanty  impulses  to 
Beauty  and  Affection  that  I  do  possess  for  the  answer 
to  a  single  one  of  the  riddles  that  haunt  me.  It  may 
be  a  fool's  bargain,  yet  I  know  I  should  be  doomed  to 
make  it.  There  is  a  curse  on  some  of  us. 

The  memories  of  all  triumphant  inspirations  fade  away. 
The  notes  of  the  "  Siegfried  "  motif,  of  the  ride  of  the  Wal- 
kiire,  of  the  onward  march  of  the  "  Symphony  Pathetique  " 
are  drowned.  The  steady,  reiterated  knock  of  the  Fifth 
Symphony  seems  the  last  word  of  all — the  throb  of  the 
heart  of  the  world. 

I  do  at  the  present  moment  definitely  believe  that 
Fate  rather  than  God  is  a  better  conception  for  the  basis 
of  a  faith.  Herein  I  find  myself  differing  from  most  of 
my  contemporaries.  Wells  says  in  "  The  Discovery  of 
the  Future  "  that  science  tells  him  that  Man  is  destined 
to  extinction  in  the  course  of  time  by  the  general  rever- 
sion of  the  solar  system  to  a  nebulous  condition,  but  that 
he  does  not — cannot  "  believe  "  that  or  regard  it  as  a 

6 


66  KEELING  LETTERS 

possibility.  Now,  my  habits  of  mind  do  not  prevent  me 
from  regarding  it  as  a  possibility.  I  am  not  a  convinced 
meliorist.  1  believe  ultimately  in  an  unknown  destiny. 
I  do  not  want  a  rational  basis — a  cheerful-faced  belief  in 
cosmic  progress — as  a  basis  for  continuous  effort.  The 
acceptance  of  such  a  belief  seems  to  arise  generally  from 
a  desire  to  give  an  appearance  of  simple  intellectual  con- 
sistency to  human  life.  In  the  last  resort  most  people 
are  meliorists  because  it  is  more  pleasant,  more  stimu- 
lating, to  be  a  meliorist.  There  seems  to  me  to  be  an 
element  of  intellectual  cowardice  in  such  an  attitude. 
It  is  an  easy  way  out  of  moods  of  depression.  If  there 
are  not  adequate  rational  grounds  for  Meliorism,  if  we 
cannot  win  it  by  weapons  of  our  own  intellectual  forging, 
tried  steel  and  trusty,  let  us  not  whine  for  it  and  accept 
it  as  a  sweetmeat  from  that  lusty-limbed  mistress  Desire- 
for-Happiness,  who  is  so  jealous  of  all  the  Muses. 

A  man  should  be  able  to  find  a  basis  for  action  in  the 
knowledge  of  the  nature  of  himself  and  of  Things  which 
experience  gives.  I  do  not  believe  that  History  offers 
grounds  for  a  belief  in  Progress.  (I  am  riot  certain  that 
the  very  notion  of  Progress  is  not  based  on  a  completely 
fallacious  estimate  of  the  value  of  different  human  char- 
acteristics.) I  am  pretty  certain  that  philosophy  pro- 
vides no  adequate  basis  for  Meliorism.  But  when  I  look 
back  on  my  own  life,  and  when  I  consider  what  I  regret 
in  it,  and  what  I  accept  as  comparatively  tolerable,  I  find 
that  it  is  from  thoroughly  completed  work — little  enough 
there  is  of  it  ! — that  I  derive  most  satisfaction,  and  for 
ill-conceived  or  half-fulfilled  purposes  that  I  feel  most 
shame.  This  knowledge  of  the  nature  of  my  own  self 
and  of  its  expression  is  the  spur  which  Mind  can  apply 
to  flagging  Will.  Prove  to  me  that  the  Spirit  of  Man 
shall  perish,  that  God  is  a  hideous  gamester,  that  human 
effort  is  in  the  last  resort  Nature's  trickery,  still  you  cannot 
destroy  the  sense  of  duty  felt  by  my  conceiving  mind 
as  owed  to  my  living — if  transitory — self. 

I  awoke  at  eight  o'clock  to  find  the  steamer  in  Bergen 
harbour — four  hours  before  the  appointed  time.  I  spent 


LEEDS  C7 

nearly  the  whole  morning  in  disposing  of  my  bag,  and 
in  vainly  endeavouring  to  secure  maps.  The  shops  are 
all  as  inexorably  closed  as  in  England  on  a  Bank  Holiday. 
This  was  gratifying  from  the  point  of  view  of  industrial 
conditions,  but  exceedingly  annoying  to  the  traveller. 
I  spent  some  of  the  morning  in  the  company  of  my  fellow- 
countryman  with  whom  I  had  shared  a  cabin.  He  was 
an  extraordinarily  gauche,  nervous,  crude  creature.  He 
had  come  to  Bergen  representing  a  firm  of  jewellery  im- 
porters. He  had  an  appointment  with  a  friend  there. 
His  friend  failed  to  meet  the  boat,  and  I  never  saw  any- 
one in  such  a  miserable  fluster.  His  mind  was  of  that 
half-educated,  ill-developed  type  which  Wells  sketches 
in  such  clear  and  bold  outlines.  In  our  cabin  was  a  notice 
relating  to  the  proper  use  to  be  made  of  the  life-belt,  should 
occasion  arise.  Just  before  I  left  the  boat  for  the  last 
time  I  noticed  that  he  had  inscribed  upon  the  notice  in 
pencil,  "  Christ  is  your  life-belt  ;  the  Holy  Ghost  is  your 
straps."  I  was  reminded  of  the  man  in  one  of  Hardy's 
novels  who  went  about  painting  texts  on  barns  and  stiles. 
A  queer,  uncanny  product.  Through  how  many  centuries 
have  philosophers  toiled,  prophets  preached,  theologians 
constructed  churches  to  make  possible  that  writhing  little 
abortion  of  a  mind  ! 

He  told  me  that  he  had  read  Ibsen,  but  regretted  that 
he  could  not  understand  the  drift  of  some  of  the  plays  ! 
How  is  the  stream  of  modernity  to  find  inlet  into  such 
minds  ?  Probably  rather  through  changed  conditions 
and  environment  than  by  means  of  any  direct  transfor- 
mation of  ideas  by  ideas. 

Bergen  is  a  pleasant  old  town,  well  kept,  and  made  especi- 
ally beautiful  at  this  time  of  year  by  the  masses  of  light 
green  foliage  amongst  the  roofs.  I  finally  gave  up  the 
project  of  obtaining  maps  and  with  some  misgivings  set 
off  for  the  mountains,  relying  on  the  eighth  or  quarter 
of  an  inch  maps  in  Baedeker. 

It  was  past  mid-day  when  I  started,  and  the  heat  grew 
more  and  more  oppressive.  I  toiled  up  a  nameless  moun- 
tain, leaving  Ulriken  on  my  right,  and  skirting  along  the 
pleasant  lake  at  the  foot  ol  it.  My  map  was  hopelessly 


68  KEELING  LETTERS 

inadequate,  and  I  had  to  do  the  best  I  could  with  my 
few  scraps  of  Norwegian  in  asking  my  way.  Of  course 
I  lost  the  track.  After  a  considerable  amount  of  scramb- 
ling, I  emerged  above  the  snow  level,  on  a  sort  of  plateau, 
dotted  with  five  or  si>^  huts,  which  were  used  as  week-end 
residences  by  Bergen  youths.  I  found  four  lads  bathing 
in  a  pool  and  they  set  me  on  my  way  to  Borge.  I  had 
a  fine  view  of  the  fiords  and  islands  from  the  plateau.  In 
a  few  minutes  I  arrived  at  a  point  where  range  after  range 
of  snow-covered  mountains  inland  came  into  sight.  I 
was  reminded  of  the  pass  between  the  Fusio  and  Ariolo 
valleys  which  I  had  crossed  one  afternoon  last  July.  As 
you  arrive  at  the  summit,  the  whole  of  the  northern  ranges 
of  the  Alps  suddenly  appear.  A  panorama  of  these  peak- 
less  Norwegian  mountains  is  not  so  impressive  as  an  Alpine 
landscape.  But  the  sudden  apparition  of  the  series  of 
loaf-shaped  ranges  stretching  away  to  the  horizon,  and 
looking,  to  one  accustomed  to  Wales  and  Switzerland, 
as  if  they  must  have  been  moulded  and  rounded  and 
smoothed  by  the  hands  of  giants,  was  a  thing  not  to  be 
forgotten. 

I  suppose  contrast  is  more  than  anything  else  the  founda- 
tion of  the  appreciation  of  beauty.  The  sudden  contrasts 
which  mountain  walking  offer  give  me,  I  believe,  more 
intense  aesthetic  pleasure  than  anything  else  in  art  or 
Nature.  I  can  recall  half  a  dozen  sudden  revelations  of 
landscape  which  have  moved  me  deeply.  I  have  stood 
while  the  mist  has  blown  away  unexpectedly  from  the 
heights  of  Snowdon,  revealing  wonders  of  sea,  river,  and 
green  hills ;  the  Ticinese  pass  mentioned  above  the 
turn  in  the  road  to  Ulrik  from  Eide,  suddenly  revealing 
the  broad  stretches  of  meadow  and  fiord,  a  descent  out 
of  the  mist  enshrouding  Mount  Errigal  in  Donegal  on 
a  spring  evening — all  these  will  always  remain  for  me 
outstanding  visions  in  the  chain  of  dreams  that  we  call 
life.  I  remember  on  the  last  occasion  to  which  I  have 
referred  when  descending  the  blunt  knife  edge  Errigal, 
the  sudden  revelation  of  the  Derryveagh  Mountains,  and 
the  vale  that  goes  down  to  Gweedore  brought  vividly  back 
to  my  memory  that  wonderful  idealization  of  contrast  in 


LEEDS  69 

the  "Phaedo" — the  passage  where  alternation  is  made 
the  very  basis  of  knowledge  and  life,  and  adduced  as  a 
principal  argument  for  immortality. 


To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

LEEDS.     15   June,  1910. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  your  letter,  and  for  the  book. 
I  will  write  again  shortly. 

I  have  just  heard  from  B.  that  he  is  going  to  marry  E.  M.  S. 
It  has  moved  me  more  than  anything  I  have  struck  for 
a  long  time.  It  is  a  really  good  thing,  there  is  no 
doubt  about  that — a  thing  one  can  be  certain  and  glad 
about.  .  .  . 

I  am  growing  more  and  more  solitary  and  gloomy  week 
by  week.  Not  that  I  am  sick  of  life  or  anything  like 
that.  I  only  see  more  and  more  clearly  that  work — 
or  at  any  rate  my  kind  of  work — and  the  art  of  life  are 
two  things.  I  am  possibly  tolerably  adapted  for  the 
first.  I  am  decidedly  not  a  genius  at  the  second.  I 
think  perhaps  I  want  to  know  too  much  of  the  why  and 
wherefore  of  it  to  do  it  well  ever.  Inquiry  and  practice 
make  a  very  good  pair  of  horses  for  purposes  of  work  ; 
but  they  do  not  run  well  together  when  it  is  a  matter  of 
life,  not  mere  effort. 

However,  some  one  has  got  to  inquire — which  means 
experiment.  And  provided  that  it  seems  probable  that 
a  reasonable  majority  of  people  are,  or  may  be,  happy 
in  a  decent  way,  I  don't  mind  much  being  in  the  minority. 
Anyhow  it  gives  me  more  satisfaction  to  think  that  Eva 
and  B.  are  likely  to  be  happy  than  anything  I  have  struck 
for  many  a  long  month. 

Work,  restful  sloop  and  meals,  and  solitary  hills  are 
the  only  solid  goods  I  seem  to  have  a  hold  on  now.  I 
think  I  shall  concentrate  on  thorn  i'or  a  time— leave  the 
rest  of  life  and  sook  peace  in  what  I  seem  at  loast  to  know. 
Peace,  by  God  !  I  am  so  damned  tired  of  wrestling  with 
facts  and  thought. 


70  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  E.  M.  S. 

LEEDS.     15  June,   igio. 

I  have  just  heard  from  B.  I  am  very  glad  you  are 
going  to  marry  each  other.  It  is  the  best  thing  I  have 
struck  for  a  very  long  time.  I  have  felt  more  to-night  than 
I  have  for  many  long  months,  and  I  shall  think  of  you 
two  black-headed  devils  last  thing  before  I  sleep  to-night. 

My  life  becomes  more  and  more  bureaucracy  tempered 
by  solitude.  I  am  afraid  I  am  deficient  in  the  art  of 
human  intercourse,  or  at  any  rate  the  self  that  is  me  at 
this  stage  is.  I  shall  emerge  when  I  have  worried  a  few 
things  out  perhaps. 

A.  is  staying  with  R—  -  just  now  in  a  cottage  on  the 
moors.  1  expect  to  see  them  in  a  few  days. 

I  am  really  more  glad  than  I  can  say.  I  am  also  very 
much  pleased  that  B—  -  has  got  a  job  in  Liverpool. 

To  Mrs.  Towns/tend. 

LABOUR  EXCHANGE,  LEEDS. 

Do  read  Margaret  Macmillan's  book  on  "  The  Child  and 
the  State."  It  has  inspired  me  enormously.  Most  of  the 
general  stuff  on  education,  apart  from  the  administrative 
side,  seems  to  me  slosh,  but  this  is  really  inspiring.  I 
can't  stand  these  blitherers  with  no  guts  who  talk  about 
the  harmonious  development  of  personality  and  so  forth, 
but  this  woman  has  got  hold  of  some  stuff.  I  have  also 
been  reading  about  the  "  Gruntvigian  "  movement  in 
Denmark  a ,  good  bit  lately.  There  is  no  doubt  they 
learned  to  make  butter  as  the  incidental  result  of  an  en- 
thusiasm for  the  humanities,  which  is  one  in  the  eye  both 
for  the  silly  revival  of  apprenticeship  people,  and  also 
for  the  people  who  believe  that  technical  education  is  the 
only  thing.  Intelligence  and  (you  can  think  me  doctrin- 
aire, radical  and  eighteenth-century,  if  you  like)  Reason 
are  the  essentials.  (I  deliberately  put  Intelligence,  by 
which  I  mean  appreciation  of  facts,  before  Reason,  by 
which  I  mean  the  power  to  correlate  them.)  I  wish 
Englishmen  would  talk  more  about  Germany  in  terms  of 
Fichte  and  Goethe  and  less  in  terms  of  Charlottenburg. 


LEEDS  71 

I  am  not  against  technical  education,  but  it  cannot  arouse 
a  human  passion  like  the  passion  for  intelligence.  By 
God  !  let  us  have  the  facts — and  see  round  them. 

I  think  I  am  going  to  take  a  house  near  where  G.  lives. 
I  am  getting  to  like  him  more  and  more.  These  chaps 
who  work  hard  for  the  cause,  when  they  have  to  earn  every 
penny  that  they  spend,  inspire  me  with  enthusiasm.  It 
is  all  very  well  for  plutocrats  like  myself,  with  tons  of 
unearned  increment,1  to  be  Socialists.  I  am  always  all 
right  and  have  fattened  on  the  sweat  of  the  people  for 
years  without  doing  anything  but  rave  a  bit.  But  chaps 
like  G.,  who  have  fought  their  way  up,  and  still  make  great 
sacrifice  for  the  cause,  make  me  feel  damned  humble  and 
a  bit  of  a  fraud. 

I  am  thinking  about  a  lot  of  things  now.  I  hope  you 
will  come  and  stay  with  me  when  I  get  my  house.  I 
have  got  two  beds,  and  I  will  get  a  bit  more  furniture. 
I  shall  be  near  Roundhay  Park,  which  is  one  of  the  few 
good  things  in  Leeds. 

I  am  beginning  to  see  the  other  side  of  all  sorts  of  things, 
which  does  not  make  me  less  revolutionary  but  more 
sure  of  my  ground.  I  shan't  ask  R.  to  share  my  house. 
...  I  am  in  sympathy  with  her  nature  and  with  the  spirit 
of  her  aspirations — at  least,  I  hope  the  best  of  me  is ;  but 
in  the  everyday  work  of  life  I  am  primarily  a  politician — • 
my  religion,  my  whole  philosophy  of  the  business  of  life 
centres  round  the  State.  Political  science  and  ethics 
are  identical  terms  for  me  in  most  of  my  moods.  Politics 
is  the  art  of  life.  Well,  that  being  so,  I  can't  stand  second- 
rate  reasoning  about  politics.  I  am  too  hasty  to  be  able 
to  live  with  it  anyhow.  And  when  I  am  conscious  that 
all  my  own  ideals  are  as  nothing  to  her,  compared  with  the 
third-rate  logic  about  the  working  of  political  and  economic 
organization  poured  out  by  honest  third-rate  thinkers,  I 
am  small  enough  not  to  be  able  to  stan^  it.  ... 

I  have  done  all  I  could  to  root  out  anti-feminist  preju- 
dices which  every  man  must  have  who  is  brought  up 
in  the  present  form  of  society,  and  I  know  I  am  more  free 
of  them  than  appears  in  my  speech  (the  old  trick  of 
1  He  had  an  inherited  income  of  about  £300  a  year. 


72  KEELING  LETTERS 

covering  up  sensitiveness ;  you  are  about  the  only  person 
who  sees  through  it  pretty  thoroughly  in  me — only  it  is 
not  a  deliberate  trick  as  you  think,  it  is  an  involuntary 
instinct  which  I  hate  and  have  sometimes  wept  over  and 
regarded  as  a  sort  of  curse). 

Well,  I  don't  know  why  I  should  write  all  this  to  you. 
Perhaps  it  will  worry  you.  But  I  don't  think  it  will. 
And  if  you  see  that  I  am  damned  wrong  somewhere,  I 
have  no  doubt  you  will  make  me  see  it,  and  that  I  shall 
hide  from  you  the  fact  that  I  see  it  as  I  have  done  dozens 
of  times. 


It  is  interesting  how  the  new  science  of  heredity  makes 
parenthood  a  sort  of  gamble  with  a  limited  number  of 
differently  coloured  marbles.  That  is  wrry  it  doesn't 
matter  that  marriage  is  such  an  accident.  If  parenthood 
is  a  gamble  within  fixed  limits,  it  is  only  meet  that  marriage 
should  be  regarded  as  such  too.  The  only  thing  that 
matters  is  introducing  cracked  marbles  into  the  gamble. 

Their  exclusion  is  the  science  of  Eugenics.  When  it 
is  really  recognized  that  marriage  is  and  must  remain  a 
gamble  (and  parenthood  still  remains  a  gamble  even  if 
real  love  is  superadded  to  marriage),  then  men  will  begin 
to  perceive  their  relationship  to  the  whole  human  race, 
and  society,  nay  humanity,  will  completely  supplant  the 
family  as  the  basis  of  the  moral  emotions — or  at  least 
the  ties  of  immediate  blood-relationship  will  be  valued 
mainly  as  symbols  of  the  love  that  is  a  latent  bond  between 
all  mankind.  Graham  Wallas  quotes  a  line  from  Dante 
about  the  love  that  first  set  the  stars  in  motion.  It  is 
not  such  rot  as  it  seems  at  first  sight.  It  attracted  my 
attention  first  because  I  didn't  understand  it  (I  went 
to  picture-galleries  first  for  the  same  reason).  I  see 
something  in  it  now,  and  1  hope  to  read  the  whole  of 
Dante  some  day  when  a  moral  scandal  or  an  electoral 
defeat  brings  about  my  temporary  retirement  into  the 
country  or  on  an  analogous  occasion. 

"  Don  Juan  "  is  the  only  epic  which  I  have  ever  read 
in  toto  so  far. 


LEEDS  73 

To  the  Same. 

ROYAL  CRESCENT  HOTEL,  FILEY. 

Sunday,  26  February,  1911. 

I  am  not  overworking — I  know  how  to  take  care  of 
myself  now — but  I  am  working  right  up  to  the  margin. 
I  have  done  my  duty  by  the  State  this  last  year  and  a  half, 
and  in  July  I  am  going  to  take  a  long  holiday  for  three 
weeks  or  a  month.  I  shall  probably  go  to  Switzerland, 
then  across  the  mountains  on  foot,  over  the  plains  to  Venice, 
mostly  by  train,  by  steamer  down  the  Adriatic,  and  by 
foot  somewhere  into  the  Balkans  or  Greece. 

I  am  giving  up  the  managership  of  the  Leeds  Labour 
Exchange  at  the  end  of  this  month  (February),  and  am 
going  to  do  special  work  in  connection  with  the  juvenile 
department  of  the  Exchange  in  both  Lancashire  and  York- 
shire. This  will  suit  me  excellently.  I  have  several 
ideas  which  I  want  to  get  an  opportunity  of  experimenting 
in.  I  have  already  eight  Advisory  Committees  in  separate 
towns  which  I  can  use  as  corpora  villa  for  my  experiments. 
If  I  can't  get  a  thing  done  in  one  place  I  probably  can  in 
another.  It  is  a  grand  opportunity. 

I  have  also  got  a  pretty  good  way  in  research  in  one 
or  two  matters  connected  with  juvenile  labour.  During 
the  last  eighteen  months  I  have  taught  myself  the  use 
of  Blue-books,  and  have  thrown  off  the  old  habit  of  reading 
with  excessive  slowness  and  thoroughness  as  if  for  an 
examination.  I  feel  this  is  a  huge  acquisition.  I  cannot 
tell  yet  how  far  I  can  go  in  administration  or  politics.  I 
know  my  extreme  ethical  individualism  and  my  hatred 
of  the  rich  and  their  habits  is  probably  a  very  distinct 
bar  to  my  going  beyond  a  certain  point  in  the  Civil  Service 
(and  quite  rightly).  It  may  be  in  politics  too.  But 
not  all  the  snobbery  and  bourgeoisie  of  England  can  shut 
me  out  of  the  British  Museum  !  And  to  have  realized 
the  power  of  realistic  knowledge,  and  to  have  attained  to 
some  extent  the  power  of  using  it  gives  me  an  independence 
of  which  no  man  can  rob  mo.  I  shall  never  be  a  broken- 
hearted political  exile  !  If  the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  I 
should  begin  again  across  the  Atlantic.  Eveiy  Englishman 
is  a  potential  American — if  he  only  has  the  sense  to  see  it. 


74  KEELING  LETTERS 

Blessed  is  the  man  who  has  found  his  work.  I  am 
happier  than  ever  I  was.  In  fact,  when  I  look  over  my 
life,  right  back  to  the  long,  solitary  fight  of  my  boyhood, 
I  see  that  each  year  has  been  almost  without  exception 
happier  than  the  last.  I  think  I  learned  a  good  deal 
through  the  years  of  isolated  struggling  at  Winchester. 
No  one  will  ever  know  what  that  meant  to  me.  In  some 
respects  it  seems  so  horrible  now — more  so  as  I  grow  older 
—that  I  can  hardly  bear  to  think  of  it.  And  yet  I  feel 
that  I  was  storing  up  for  myself  treasure  in  heaven — 
which  is  manhood  to  a  boy.  But  it  might  not  have  been 
so.  There  have  been  thousands  for  whom  it  has  not  been 
so,  and  therefore  I  still  cling  almost  superstitiously  to 
a  sort  of  shadow  of  a  belief  in  Nemesis  (this  happiness 
is  too  good  to  last)  and  a  constant  warning  of  myself 
that  the  gods  love  not  too  great  pride  of  happiness  in 
man. 

I  find  myself  getting  more  and  more  independent  in 
spirit,  more  capable  of  enjoying  life  alone,  less  dependent 
on  any  one  for  the  essentials  of  the  best  pleasures.  I 
know  some  people  denounce  such  individualism.  I  think 
they  are  mostly  people  who  are  incapable  of  experiencing 
it.  It  does  not  mean  a  lessening  of  the  importance  of 
friendship  or  even  of  love.  It  only  means  that  one  culls 
both  of  them  instead  of  wallowing  in  them.  I  daresay 
I  am  incapable  of  the  sort  of  passion  for  an  individual 
that  sweeps  a  man  away  from  worldly  considerations. 
But  I  know  that  romance  is  not  necessarily  bound  up 
with  that  sort  of  passion.  I  know  that  my  passion  for 
moulding  the  stuff  that  binds  men  together  in  society — 
for  becoming  a  part  of  that  stuff  myself,  an  indistinguish- 
able brick  or  stone  in  the  temple  of  God — is  as  unworldly 
and  as  romantic  as  the  wildest  lover's  passion.  And 
in  my  best  moments  I  can  feel  the  true  lover's  humility, 
in  my  love  for  Earth  and  Man,  just  as  really  as  those  who 
fall  prostrate  before  Woman  or  Art.  (The  insolence  of 
their  exclusiveness  !  !  !) 

And  I  am  learning  to  be  one  of  earth's  children — I 
believe  I  am.  Nature  is  more  and  more  beautiful  to  me. 
The  simple  natural  (I  defend  the  word)  pleasures  of  sunlight 


LEEDS  75 

and  sky  and  food — and  wine  to  crown  Life  now  and  again 
with  an  ephemeral  garland — become  more  and  more  real. 
The  joys  of  bathing  in  winter,  of  running  mile  after 
mile  on  a  moor,  of  pure  physical  love,  without  pretences 
—why,  by  God !  why  not  take  them  all  and  be  thankful 
without  any  quibbling  ?  They  aren't  any  of  them  every- 
thing— but  nor  is  anything  else.  I  am  losing  patience 
with  those  who  are  devoured  by  a  sense  of  imperfection. 
Their  standard  is  wrong — not  too  high  or  low,  but  mis- 
conceived. I  stop  and  wonder  now  and  again  at  real 
tragedies.  Not  often,  I  admit.  I  simply  cannot  under- 
stand them  :  I  can  only  see  that  by  far  the  greater  part 
of  them — the  most  pitiable,  the  least  dignified  part  at 
any  rate — are  remediable.  All  that  part  of  tragedy  which 
is  due  to  human  wastefulness — I  mean  social  stupidity — 
is  remediable.  Perhaps  I  shall  come  closer  to  the  mean- 
ing of  the  other  part  as  I  grow  older.  I  have  come  to 
understand  the  common,  routine  part  of  the  mechanism 
of  myself  fairly  well.  I  know  it  is  no  use  my  trying  to 
live  with  R. — or  any  other  woman.  I  get  to  like  her 
and  respect  her — love  her,  if  the  word  were  not  abused — 
more  and  more.  But  domestic  life  requires  a  certain 
amount  of  energy — like  everything  else.  I  find  that 
with  me  it  requires  a  good  deal  more  when  conducted 
with  a  woman  than  with  a  man.  In  the  former  case,  too, 
it  doesn't  give  me  the  sort  of  change  I  want  from  work. 
All  this  I  have  found ;  it  is  not  acting  on  theories. 

But  I  am  more  and  more  keen  on  having  children.  Joan 
fascinates  me.  I  know  it  is  humbug  to  say  that  I  am 
shirking  parental  responsibilities  by  not  living  with  R. 
every  day.  Perhaps  I  am  too  cocksure  about  my  metis 
conscia  rccti  in  this  respect — but  it  is  a  real  conviction. 

I  want  to  have  several  children.  I  don't  care  about 
the  probability  that  at  least  the  majority  of  them 
will  never  be  as  consciously  intimate  with  me  as  my 
best  contemporary  friends.  Just  as  there  are  certain 
phases  of  one's  life  (in  clear  contradistinction  to  others) 
which  one  looks  back  over  and  feels,  "  Well,  with  all 
the  tarnished  portions,  with  all  the  misshapen  fragments, 
still  it  was  worth  it,"  so  I  shall  feel  about  my  relations  with 


76  KEELING  LETTERS 

my  children  when  (if  ever)  I  am  sixty.      "  Fd  do  it  again," 
as  William  says  in  "  You  Never  Can  Tell." 

To-day  I  am  resting  most  enjoyably.  I  caught  the 
9  a.m.  from  Leeds  to  Scarborough  and  walked  here  in 
glorious  sunshine  and  wind  along  the  coast.  I  gave 
myself  a  good  luncheon  (to  the  frugal  a  half-crown  luncheon 
and  half  a  bottle  of  wine  once  a  month  is  Ambrosia  and 
Nectar — why  don't  the  rich  find  that  out  ?)  and  have 
spent  the  afternoon  reading  "  Getting  Married,"  and 
watching  the  sunlight  and  the  sea  and  the  cliffs  of  Flam- 
borough  Head.  By  God !  life  is  good.  It  might  be  good 
for  nearly,  very  nearly,  all  men. 

"  Getting  Married  "  is  wonderful.  Damn  these  super- 
Shavian,  quibbling  technologist  critics — with  their  "  pure 
dramatic  art  "  and  what  not ! 

There  is  Truth  and  Life  in  this  thing.  I  will  not 
wrangle  over  the  word  "  play  "  with  them — I  have  no 
time. 

The  sun  has  set  now,  but  the  cliffs  of  Flamborough  Head 
still  stand  out  beautiful  in  another  way,  and  there  is  blue 
in  the  sky  and  shining  clouds  and  grey  clouds,  and  the 
hue  of  the  sea  is  not  colourless  though  no  man  can  name 
it.  I  once  heard  a  rather  pious  German  professor  in  a 
lecture  distinguish  at  length  between  Buddhism  and 
Christianity  as  based  upon  Mitlcid  and  Mitfreude  respec- 
tively. We  have  no  word  for  Mitfreude  in  English.  But 
I  know  that  though  it  was  first  Mitlcid  which  lit  my  passion 
against  human  injustice  and  folly,  and  that  fanned  it 
during  the  years  of  my  boyhood,  it  is  more  and  more 
Mitfreude,  becoming  conscious  of  itself  in  moods  such  as 
this,  which  binds  me  to  my  fellow-men  and  to  all  living 
creatures  and  to  the  impersonal  but  loving  forces  of  Nature 
—the  embrace  of  the  wind,  the  lap  of  the  water,  and  the 
folds  of  the  bosom  of  Earth. 

(By  the  way,  I  am  not  becoming  a  Christian,  or  anything 
like  it.) 

The  sky  and  sea  and  dills  are  all  becoming  greyer. 
Behind  me  there  is  a  long  line  of  white  waves  leaping  up 
against  a  breakwater  or  a  line  of  rocks  which  runs  out 
from  the  northern  end  of  the  bay  ;  the  lighthouse  on  Flam- 


LEEDS  77 

borough  Head  has  begun  to  flash,  first  red,  then  white,  and 
then  yellow  at  intervals. 

Well,  I  must  up  and  away.  I  have  eight  miles  to  walk 
against  a  strong  gale,  to  catch  a  train  at  Scarborough, 
back  to  Leeds. 

To  the  Same. 

12,  ROMAN  TERRACE,  ROUNDHAY,  LEEDS. 
13  June,  1911. 

I  have  been  rather  incompetent  till  to-day  since  getting 
back.  It  is  too  much  for  me  trying  to  work  hard  and 
at  the  same  time  dissipate  socially  in  London  as  I  did 
last  week.  However,  I  am  very  fit  again  now,  and  hoping 
to  get  on  with  my  book.  I  enjoy  being  here  immensely. 
I  have  made  friends  with  a  young  blouse  manufacturer 
who  is  a  Fabian  and  Minority  Report  man,  and  am  trying 
to  persuade  him  to  come  and  live  with  me.  If  I  could 
find  two  or  three  congenial  men  to  come  and  share  this 
house  it  would  be  really  good  fun. 

I  have  read  Olive  Schreiner's  book  and  think  it  excellent 
except  that  some  misunderstandings  of  the  trade  unionist 
attitude  towards  women's  labour  rather  annoy  me.  She, 
like  most  middle-class  women,  doesn't  seem  to  realize 
that  women's  labour  nearly  always  means  labour  at  cheaper 
rates  than  men's  labour.  Where  it  doesn't — as  in  the 
cotton  trade — no  one  objects  to  it.  I  have  seen  a  good 
deal  of  the  ceaseless  struggle  of  trade  union  secretaries 
to  get  standard  rates  and  conditions  observed  by  masters. 
Women  who  come  in  and  work  for  less  are  naturally  ob- 
jected to — just  as  men  who  work  for  less  are  objected  to. 

But  I  like  Olive  Schreiner's  book  immensely.  I  think 
it  is  right  that  women  should  feel  that  they  are  fighting 
for  a  right  to  share  in  the  world's  labour — and  the  most 
interesting  parts  of  it — not  primarily  for  a  right  to  "  self- 
development  "  or  "  experience  "  or  some  other  anti-Puritan 
catchword. 

14  June,  IQII. 

I  am  looking  forward  immensely  to  my  month's  holiday. 
I  shall  turn  absolutely  from  books  and  towns.  I  expect 
I  shall  loaf  about  the  Tirol  with  old  Dudley  for  a  bit, 


78  KEELING  LETTERS 

and  then  perhaps  cross  over  into   Switzerland  by  myself. 
I  feel  I  shall  return  with  the  strength  of  a  giant. 

Meanwhile  I  am  going  to  take  a  preliminary  week-end 
in  Wales  to-morrow,  Sunday.  I  am  simply  craving  for 
a  sight  of  the  mountains.  I  have  been  feeling  "  I  will 
lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills  "  all  this  evening.  The 
smell  of  a  wet  hillside  and  the  feel  of  slippery  rocks  will 
be  food  and  drink  to  my  soul.  And  two  nights  in  lonely 
farmhouses  with  dips  into  Meredith's  poems  after  supper 
will  be  a  vision  of  the  far-off,  unattainable  peace  which 
I  always  dream  of  but  never  find. 

I  have  a  sort  of  affection  for  North  Wales  which  I  think 
I  can  never  lose — almost  a  sentimentality  which  I  am 
ashamed  of  when  I  take  up  the  map  and  look  in  a  few 
seconds  at  a  dozen  mountains  or  valleys — each  of  which 
I  can  see  almost  as  clearly  in  my  mind's  eye  as  in  reality, 
and  each  of  which  is  connected  for  me  with  an  outburst 
of  feeling  in  relation  to  some  individual — I  have  an  extra- 
ordinary sort  of  melting  mood  come  over  me,  which  I  never 
experience  except  in  solitude,  a  passionate  desire  to  have 
done  with  the  perversities  of  my  own  nature  which  have 
broken  up  so  many  loves  and  friendships,  and  a  sort  of 
vision  of  a  me  that  exists  in  posse — and  therefore  as  really 
as  the  me  of  actuality — a  me  which  could  translate  into 
terms  of,  say,  a  long  evening's  talk  by  the  fireside  with 
each  individual  the  most  passionate  feeling  I  ever  had 
for  him  or  her.  Peace  !  I  don't  ask  for  a  lifetime  of  it, 
only  for  an  hour  now  and  again.  And  yet  I  can't  get  it. 
I  can  get  nearer  it  in  general  with  men  than  with  women. 
It  seems  easier  to  throw  the  spectre  of  practicality  over- 
board for  an  hour  with  men,  and  to  live  wholly  in  the 
visions  of  the  moment. 

By  God !  I  look  at  that  map  and  I  seem  to  know  with 
a  sort  of  certainty  which  is  strange  to  most  everyday 
issues  that  there  is  something  more  real  and  enduring 
in  the  love  that  one  has  felt  for  an  individual — whatever 
has  happened  to  it  in  actual  life — than  in  the  never-ending 

clangour  of  discords  and  perversities.     I  can   see  R , 

in     brown    gaiters    and    a   grey   skirt   and  coat,   climbing 
up  the  north  side  of  Rhinog  Fawr  with  me — the  first  time 


LEEDS  79 

I  ever  walked  with  her.  I  can  see  you  walking  with  me 
up  the  Cwmbychan  road  by  a  wood — one  cloudy  afternoon 

— and  meeting  old  Dudley  with  the  O s  ;  and  D. 

on  the  lawn  in  front  of  Pen-yr-alt.  (I  would  give  any- 
thing for  a  command  over  reasonableness  sufficient  to 
force  myself  to  show  and  her  to  see — if  only  for  half  an 
hour  in  the  whole  of  the  rest  of  my  life — that  1  did  feel 
genuinely  in  love  with  her,  and  that  what  was  real  in  that 
exists  to-day.  I  can't  express  what  I  mean,  it  only  makes 
a  mix  up  in  words ;  it  is  part  of  my  idea  of  a  sort  of  sym- 
posium— I  mean  literally  banquet  or  gathering — of  all 
one's  loves  in  a  triumph  of  reasonableness.) 

Well,  you  see,  I  am  a  sentimentalist  at  bottom — so  gross 
a  sentimentalist  that  perhaps  the  assumption  of  a  mask 
of  ruffianism  is  not  only  explicable  but  inevitable.  Un- 
fortunately, the  effect  of  the  mask  may  be  similar  to  that 
of  the  mask  assumed  by  Max  Beerbohm's  Happy  Hypocrite. 

I  am  looking  forwarckto  your  coming  immensely.  Jones, 
late  of  Walworth,  is  coming  for  a  few  days  during  Corona- 
tion. His  company  always  rejoices  my  soul.  Heron, 
my  blouse  manufacturer  friend,  was  here  last  night. 

To  the  Same. 

ROUNDHAY,  LEEDS. 

20  June,  ign. 

I  feel  enormously  benefited  by  my  tramp.  Had  a 
grand  day  in  the  mountains  yesterday  and  thought  a  lot. 
Unfortunately,  I  could  not  sleep  last  night  except  for  two 
hours.  The  cause  was  not  mental  at  all.  I  had  a  very 
good  supper,  including  flesh  and  claret,  just  before  going 
to  bed,  after  tramping  from  11.30  to  9.15,  and  this  on  top 
of  a  very  refreshing  bath  made  me  so  alert  that  I  simply 
could  not  stop  thinking.  I  almost  wished  I  believed 
in  the  sanctity  of  marriage,  then  I  should  know  what  to 
do  anyway. 

Oh  what  a  dusty  answer  gets  the  soul 
When  hot  for  certainties  in  this  our  life. 

It  is  more  honourable  to  the  human  spirit  to  live  with- 
out ethical  certainties  when  you  know  that  really  they  are 


80  KEELING  LETTERS 

all  only  convenient  hypotheses,  but  how  much  more  difficult ! 
I  should  be  a  much  better  political  Socialist,  and  much 
more  likely  to  make  a  public  success  of  my  life,  if  a  cursed 
spirit  of  inquisitiveness  and  empiricism,  culminating  in 
Tolstoy  and  last  of  all  Shaw,  hadn't  made  me  attempt  to 
probe  questions  of  conduct  to  the  root.  But  I  don't 
think  I  would  sooner  be  without  that  spirit  on  the  whole. 


CHAPTER  V 

LEEDS    AND     TIROL 

JULY,  1911,  TO  JULY,  1912  (AGED  24-5) 

To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

TIROL. 
Saturday,  22  July,  191 1. 

WE  have  arrived  at  a  hotel  right  up  a  splendid  valley. 
We  left  Miinchen  at  8.45  this  morning  and  arrived  at  a 
little  place  called  Mayerhof  about  one  o'clock.  There  we 
dined,  and  have  since  then  been  walking  up  the  valley. 
I  am  writing  on  a  hillock  facing  the  snow  mountains,  and 
just  above  the  river.  Zemmerthal  is  the  name  of  the 
valley,  but  I  don't  suppose  you  know  it.  I  left  the  route 
to  Dudley,  as  it  doesn't  seem  to  me  to  matter  much  where 
you  get  in  country  like  this.  As  he  changed  it  completely 
about  four  times  yesterday,  I  gave  up  trying  to  find  out 
where  we  were  coming  till  we  were  nearly  at  the  end  of 
our  railway  journey  this  morning. 

I  always  enjoy  the  long  journey  across  Germany  from 
England.  There  are  so  many  things  to  see,  even  when 
one  is  rushing  through  a  country  in  a  train.  I  travelled 
most  of  the  way  with  a  Dutchman,  and  knocked  some 
of  the  rust  off  my  German  by  talking  for  several  hours 
with  him  about  the  Flushing  fortification  question,  the 
draining  of  the  Zuyder  Zee,  the  Dutch  education  problem 
(the  religious  question  seems  very  similar  to  ours),  the 
Dutch  East  Indies,  the  strikes  at  Rotterdam  and  Antwerp, 
etc.,  etc.  It  seems  that  many  Dutchmen  accept  the  idea 
of  ultimate  incorporation  in  the  German  Empire  with 
equanimity.  I  think  they  are  right,  and  I  think  England 
should  recognize  the  situation.  Surely  in  the  interests 
of  civilization  we  must  have  one  central  authority  from 

7  si 


82  KEELING  LETTERS 

the  North  Sea  to  the  Mediterranean.  It  won't  extinguish 
local  culture  and  local  sentiment.  Holland  would  be  just 
as  well  off,  it  seems  to  me,  if  she  were  in  the  position  of 
Bavaria  as  she  is  now.  The  incorporation  of  Holland  in 
the  German  Empire  would  mean,  of  course,  (i)  that  Prussia 
would  no  longer  have  a  majority  of  votes  in  the  Bundesrath 
(unless  this  were  juggled  somehow),  (2)  that  the  whole 
strategic  position  as  regards  English  and  German  relations 
would  be  revolutionized.  Of  course  the  ordinary  English- 
man would  say,  "  We  can't  have  a  German  Fleet  within 
five  or  six  hours'  sail  of  the  English  coast."  But  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  proximity  of  the  German  Navy  would 
render  some  understanding  inevitable.  The  position  would 
be  so  intolerable  that  it  could  not  last. 

It  is  useless  for  Radicals  of  the  j.  A.  Hobson  type  to 
go  on  talking  vague  internationalism  without  definitely 
trying  to  consider  what  Germany  wants  and  what  is  the 
relation  of  her  wants  to  the  general  interests  of  civilization. 
I  think  Germany  should  be  recognized  as  the  Power  which 
is  bound  to  become  the  administrator  of  Central  Europe 
— in  so  far  as  a  common  centralized  administrator  is 
necessary. 

Of  course  government  isn't,  and  never  will  be,  more 
than  one  of  the  main  interests  of  civilized  life.  The 
Germans  and  the  English  can  govern  pretty  cleanly  and 
pretty  well  as  things  go.  We  must  to  a  certain  extent 
think  in  terms  of  good  government.  Liberty  is  the  first 
essential  of  good  government.  But  it  is  no  more  than 
that  The  problem  of  the  administration  of  Central 
Europe  appears  to  me  as  primarily  (not  wholly)  express- 
ible in  exactly  the  same  terms  as  the  problem  of  the  admin- 
istration of  Greater  London.  I  don't  know  enough  to 
speak  confidently,  but  I  suspect  that  the  growth  of 
specifically  Bavarian  art  and  literature  in  the  last  genera- 
tion has  been  actually  helped  by  the  unification  of  Germany. 
It  seems  to  me  simply  muddle-headed  to  say  that  local 
culture  is  necessarily  stimulated  by  complete  political 
independence. 

Dudley  and  I  talked  about  a  great  many  things  in  a 
very  short  time  with  Bonn,  the  head  of  the  new  Miinchener 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  83 

Handelshochschule.  He  has  the  typically  Jewish  mental 
qualities,  but  he  is  remarkably  shrewd  and  well-informed. 

We  lunched  yesterday  with  half  a  dozen  German  students 
—of  the  type  who  despise  the  duelling  man  and  are  alto- 
gether much  more  like  Englishmen.  One  of  them  had 
his  mistress  with  him — a  most  beautiful  girl  with  masses 
of  black  hair  and  very  dark  eyes.  I  am  told  that  there 
is  very  little  prostitution  as  we  understand  it  in  Munich, 
because  the  mistress  system  is  so  much  more  general. 

The  hours  of  work  of  Munich  waitresses  distress  me  very 
much.  We  got  some  figures  from  one  girl.  Apparently  no 
one,  even  amongst  Socialists,  has  taken  the  question  up. 
The  Socialists  seem  to  be  almost  wholly  occupied  with 
questions  of  general  principle  and  imperial  policy.  They 
have  not  found  their  Webb. 

(It  is  nearly  dark,  and  I  must  go  in.  The  mountains 
in  this  light  are  wonderful.) 

I  was  immensely  surprised  to  hear  Bonn  speak  of  the 
lack  of  public  spirit  in  Munich  just  in  the  same  way  as 
I  do  in  Leeds.  He  said  that  most  of  the  members  of  the 
City  Council  go  in  with  a  view  to  their  own  interests  without 
any  direct  jobbery.  Very  many  are  small  shopkeepers. 
The  place  is  well  governed,  but  the  chief  motive  is  really 
to  try  to  attract  rich  visitors  and  residents  who  can  be 
fleeced  by  the  trader  and  tax-gatherer.  (Munich  is  really  a 
residential  not  an  industrial  town.) 

To  the  Same. 

FRANZENSFESTE,  TIROL. 

Tuesday,  25  July,  1911. 

Thank  you  very  miich  indeed  for  your  letter  which  I 
have  just  found  here.  I  had  been  looking  forward  to 
arriving  here  not  least  because  I  hoped  for  letters.  Yes- 
terday morning,  after  Dudley  went  off  to  Scherzing,  I  lay 
out  on  the  grass  outside  the  Dominenshutte,  looking  up 
the  valley  at  the  glacier  and  the  snow,  and  read  a  most 
fascinating  pamphlet  on  German  Kolonialpolitik  by  Bonn, 
whom  I  met  in  Munich.  He  has  specialized  in  colonial 
questions,  and  my  slight  knowledge  of  South  Africa  enables 
me  to  recognize  that  he  is  probably  abler  in  his  treatment 


84  KEELING  LETTERS 

of  them  than  any  one  we  have  in  England.  I  have  never 
seen  such  a  mass  of  ideas  on  colonial  questions,  substan- 
tiated by  skilful  reference  to  facts,  within  the  compass 
of  fifty  pages.  I  really  think  it  ought  to  be  translated 
into  English,  as  a  contribution  towards  the  understanding 
of  Germany  by  England. 

The  main  ideas  of  the  pamphlet  are  as  follows  :— 
The  German  colonial  movement  started  in  the  early 
eighties,  when  emigration  from  Germany  was  at  its  height. 
Then  the  principal  German  possessions  were  acquired. 
The  main  idea  was  to  find  an  outlet  for  Germans  across 
the  sea  where  they  could  remain  German  citizens.  But 
since  then  the  following  facts  have  become  clear  or 
emerged  :— 

1.  The  German  colonies  can  never  contain  a  white  population 
of  all  grades  of  society   (most  interesting  references  are  made  to 
the  conditions  prevailing  with  regard  to  the  competition  of  white 
and  coloured  labour  in  Algeria,  Queensland,  German  South-West 
Africa,  and  South  Africa). 

2.  German  industry  has  developed  so  enormously  that  German 
emigration  has  practically  ceased.     (Bonn  might  refer,  though  he 
does  not  in  detail,  to  the  enormous  immigration,  both  seasonal  and 
permanent,  of  Italians  and  Poles  into  Germany,  especially  in  the 
building  and  mining  industries  and  agriculture.) 

3.  The  most  serious  problem  of  German  industry  in  many  ways 
is  the  rising  price  of  raw  material,  e.g.  in  the  cotton  industry  (this 
is  of  course  true  of  industry  all  over  the  world). 

Whether  or  no  Germany  can  be  made  to  include  a  still 
larger  population  depends  on — 

1.  A  continued  supply  of  cheap  raw  material  (and  food — Bonn, 
like  Brentano  and  Lotze,  the  great  Munich  economists,  is  of  course 
a  strong  Free  Trader.     Tariff  Reform  probably  does  not  include  the 
ablest  economists  among  its  adherents  even  in  Germany). 

2.  The  preservation  of  her  present  opening  of  new  markets. 

With  regard  to  (i)  the  first  of  the  real  functions  of 
Germany's  colonies  emerges — to  supply  cheap  raw  mate- 
rial for  German  industry.  Of  course  they  provide  very 
little  now,  but  their  population  is  14,000,000,  and  they 
could  be  made  to  supply  a  great  deal  more. 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  85 

With  regard  to  (2)  (perhaps  the  most  interesting  part 
of  the  pamphlet  deals  with  this),  Bonn  assumes  that  the 
countries  to  which  Germany  exports  will  offer  less  of  a 
market  in  future  owing  to  tariffs  and  the  growth  of  local 
industries.  Germany  can  take  three  possible  courses  to 
deal  with  this  problem. 

1.  She  can  try  to  force  foreign  countries  to  open  their  markets 
by  means  of  war.     No  doubt  there  are  plenty  of  hard-headed  fools 
(Bonn  says  in  effect)  who  would  like  to  try  this.     But  such  a  method 
is   utterly  impracticable   on   account  of   the   boycott.     Whatever 
treaty  were  made  with  a  conquered  Government,  it  is  impossible 
to  conceive  a  conquered  people  at  once  beginning  to  buy  sewing 
machines,  cloth,   etc.,  from  their  conquerors.     The  possibilities  of 
the  boycott  are  too  great.     (An  interesting  limitation  of  the  economic 
man  theory.) 

2.  She  might  try  to  conquer  a  part  of  the  incompletely  settled 
districts  of  the  world  where  whites  can  live  and  bring  up  families — 
e.g.  South  America  or  Australia.     Bonn  does  not  absolutely  dismiss 
this  as  a  possibility.     (He  evidently  regards  his  Government  rather 
with  the  feeling  that  they  are  fools  enough  to  try  anything.)     But 
his  own  policy  is — 

3.  To  stimulate  the  wants  of  native  Africa  by  a  humane  and 
civilizing  policy  towards  the  natives  and  so  create  a  new  market. 
There  is  room  for  an  almost  indefinite  extension  of  consumption 
in  Africa,  and  it  is  not  likely  to  manufacture  for  a  very  long  time, 
if  ever.     Bonn  is  no  sentimentalist.     I  should  not  even  call  him  a 
humanitarian.     He  is  an  almost  callous  Jew.     But  he  riddles  the 
brutal  extermination  policy  of  the  German  Government  in  South- 
West  Africa  with  economic  criticism,  contrasting  it  again  and  again 
with  our  more  humane  policy  in  South  Africa.     He  points  out  that 
there  are  more  licensed  white  traders  in  the  tiny  Trankei  territory  * 
than  there  are  traders  in  the  whole  of  German  South- West  Africa 
in  spite  of  the  infinitely  larger  native  and  white  population  in  the 
latter. 

Incidentally,  you  might  as  well,  it  seems  to  me,  apply  the 
extension  of  the  consumption  idea  to  the  home  proletariat, 
who,  as  Money  says,  are  very  bad  customers  so  long  as 
they  are  badly  paid  (see  Hobson  too).  But  if  only  we 
could  make  people  see  that  the  raising  of  the  standard 
of  native  African  life  is  intimately  connected  with  our 
own  economic  interests  it  would  be  a  great  thing. 

1  A  Cape  Colony  native  reserve,  where  no  white  man  may  trade 
without  a  Government  licence. 


86  KEELING  LETTERS 

Of  course,  in  a  sense  this  may  be  anti-Socialist — stimu- 
lating the  property  sense,  etc.  But  I  am  afraid  the  tribal 
system  is  doomed.  I  am  also  very  suspicious  of  any 
idealization  of  primitive  man  (or  woman).  And,  after 
all,  civilization  is  one,  and  the  black  man,  though  he  may 
be  saved  a  good  many  of  our  zigzags  along  the  road  to 
Utopia,  is  not  going  to  have  a  private  Utopia  of  his  own. 

Yesterday  afternoon  I  crossed  the  pass  into  the  valley 
leading  to  this  place,  which  is  on  the  Brennerbahn  and 
the  main  road  from  Innsbruck  to  Verona.     Just  after  I 
got  across  the  pass  there  was  a  thunderstorm,  and  it  began 
to  rain.     (The  rolling  echoes  of  the  thunder  in  the  moun- 
tains was  glorious.)     I   had  coffee  at  one  Gasthaus  and 
beer  at  another,  but  I  did  not  like  the  people.     The  first 
Gasthaus   Was   really   only   a   Bauernhaus.     There   was   a 
plague  of  flies,  and  also  a  wench  who  was  grossly  seductive. 
So  I  came  away.     About  an  hour  later  I  went  into  another 
Gasthaus.     Here  they   were  very  uncivil,   said  they  had 
no  more  beds,  and  could  only  give  me  supper  if  I  liked  to 
wait   an  hour.     The  tourists  here  were   a   damned  lot- 
quite  different  from  those  in  the  valley  we  went  up  first, 
because  in  this  second  main  valley  there  was  a  cart-road 
of  sorts.     There  was  a  yapping  party  of  German  women, 
who  grinned  at  me  because  I  had  on  an  English  mackintosh, 
the  likes  of  which   they  had  not  seen  before.     On  such 
occasions    I    preserve   complete   outward   composure,   and 
carry  out  my  policy  of  showing  how  well  Englishmen  can 
behave  even  more  strictly  than  I  usually  do,  but  I  boiled 
tremendously   within.     So   I   walked   on  two   hours  more 
through  pouring  rain.     The  valley  was  not  very  beautiful, 
but  I  enjoyed  the  swish   of   the  rain  in  the  birch-woods 
and  the  noise  of  the  swollen  river.     About  nine  o'clock 
I  came  to  a  Gasthaus  which  was  very  pleasant,  though 
the  wench  here  also  was  rather  free — perhaps  they  are 
all  in  that  valley.     Here  I  fed  and  slept.     I  had  thought 
of  crossing  the  mountains  to-day,  and  arriving  here  by  a 
roundabout   route.     But    instead    I    went   straight   on    to 
Sterzing.     I   just   missed  the  ten  o'clock  train  here,   but 
I  am  glad  I  did,  as  I  found  a  swimming  bath  where  I  had 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  87 

a  glorious  hour.  A  number  of  Germans  were  bathing 
en  famille.  (Whoever  started  the  idea  that  mixed  bathing 
stimulates  lust  ?  People  have  no  right  to  start  these 
ideas  except  on  a  basis  of  realistic  psychology.)  After 
my  bathe  I  strolled  round  Sterzing  very  leisurely  (the  sun 
was  very  hot).  There  was  one  jolly  old  street,  with  lots 
of  cool  vaults  and  arcades. 

I  have  read  your  letter  several  times.  I  am  so  glad 
to  hear  about  Joan.  The  main  thing  I  shall  care  about 
in  connection  with  her  future  will  be  to  do  all  I  can  to 
enable  her  to  have  a  definite  place  in  the  world's  work. 
Of  course  it  will  be  much  easier — she  will,  in  fact,  be  able 
to  do  it  entirely  for  herself — if  she  has  brains.  But  it  is 
even  more  important  that  she  should  find  her  place  in  the 
world's  work,  even  if  she  hasn't.  I  should  imagine,  at 
any  rate  I  hope,  that  there  will  be  less  need  for  general 
vague  woman  agitators  in  twenty  years'  time,  and  there- 
fore she  ought  to  start  from  the  first  with  the  assumption 
that  she  will  do  something  definite.  But  God  forbid  that 
I  should  ever  infringe  my  own  principles  to  the  extent 
of  attempting  to  mould  a  course  for  any  child  of  mine. 
I  hope  I  know  the  weakness  of  well-meaning  parents  well 
enough.  Perhaps  I  even  under-estimate  their  value. 

To  the  Same. 

VERONA.     31  July,  IQTI. 

I  have  enjoyed  myself  hugely  to-day,  trying  to  let 
myself  feel  the  influence  of  Italy  with  as  little  positive 
exertion  as  possible.  The  chief  thing  I  did  this  morning 
was  to  climb  up  the  Castel  San  Pietro  on  the  farther  side 
of  the  river,  whence  one  has  a  view  of  the  whole  place. 
There  I  lay  in  the  shade  for  nearly  an  hour  thinking  of 
the  history  of  Northern  Italy  and  many  other  things.  The 
fact  keeps  forcing  itself  on  my  mind  that  this  place  is 
about  the  size  of  a  third-rate  Yorkshire  manufacturing 
town— say  Rotherham,  or  the  enlarged  borough  of  Dews- 
bury.  1  suppose  it  was  as  large,  or  larger,  under  the 
Roman  Empire  (the  Amphitheatre  seats  twenty  thousand). 


88  KEELING  LETTERS 

Does  the  fact  of  a  great  past  really  influence  the  lives 
of  the  great  mass  of  the  people  ?  I  doubt  it.  I  don't 
see  how  it  can  till  we  get  a  national  minimum  wage  and 
an  eight-hours  day.  And  I  doubt  whether  history  has 
ever  been  really  an  intimate  consciousness  for  the  mass 
of  the  people,  except  in  so  far  as  they  felt  the  effects  of 
war  or  devastation.  The  things  which  really  are  important 
for  them  in  history,  e.g.  sanitation  and  industrial  changes, 
they  have  not  realized  simply  because  historians  are  only 
just  beginning  to  take  any  notice  of  them.  But  the  day 
will  come  when  the  history  of  main  drainage  in  England 
will  supplant  the  study  of  Crecy  and  Agincourt,  when 
Chadwick  will  oust  Wellington  as  a  national  hero,  and 
the  youth  of  England  will  know  more  about  the  Municipal 
Corporations  Act  than  the  Comitia  Centuriata  ? 

The  Roman  Republican  Constitution  is  about  the  most 
futile  to  select  for  study  by  boys — there  might  be  some 
point  in  studying  the  Athenian.  Even  if  the  contention 
of  the  ordinary  Public  School  head  master  or  classical  don 
be  admitted — that  a  non-utilitarian  study  of  the  classical 
politics  and  classical  literature  should  be  the  main  element 
in  education — still  their  methods  are  absolutely  unjusti- 
fiable. 

How  the  devil  is  anyone  to  understand  what  the 
Comitia  Centuriata,  the  Ecclesia,  or  the  Boule  were  like  if 
he  or  she  has  never  seen  even  a  public  political  meeting  ? 
An  Italian  has  recently  written  a  book  on  Caesar,  showing 
that  he  really  climbed  up  by  being  a  first-rate  caucus 
manager.  Probably  the  average  Public  School  master  has 
never  attended  a  ward  meeting  of  the  local  Tory  or  Liberal 
caucus — or  ever  read  his  Ostrogorski.  What  is  the  good 
of  trying  to  understand  the  dead  politics  of  another  age 
if  you  don't  look  at  the  monuments  of  the  living  organism 
of  which  you  are  a  part  ?  Whether  an  understanding  of 
the  past  or  a  practical  reform  of  the  present  be  your  main 
object,  your  method  must  be  the  same — see  and  feel  the 
actual  thing  working.  It  is  perfectly  easy  to  do  so  :  in 
every  village  the  machinery  of  public  affairs  in  the  Parish 
Council,  the  Rural  District  and  County  Councils  and  their 
officials — local  school  managers,  etc.,  etc. — moves  on  day 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  89 

by  day.  And  yet  we  can  find  nothing  better  to  stuff  the 
minds  of  boys  of  fourteen  with  than  the  dubious  details 
of  the  Roman  Constitution.  Lieber  Gott  in  Himmel !  It  is 
enough  to  make  one  weep.  And  then  we  wonder  at  the 
lack  of  interest  in  public  affairs — yelp  against  the  party 
system  instead  of  reforming  parties  (which  must  exist) 
from  within,  as  the  Americans  are  doing  so  successfully, 
or  grow  pessimistic  about  democracy  generally.  The 
sacrifice  of  intelligence  in  the  Public  Schools  is  openly 
justified  in  the  supposed  interests  of  the  production  of 
political  capacity,  but  no  one  tries  to  give  any  attention 
to  the  specifically  political  education  of  the  mass  of 
the  people.  People  only  seek  to  find  some  dodge — 
proportional  representation,  the  referendum — which  will 
counteract  the  effect  of  political  ignorance,  the  study  of 
civic  institutions,  local  government,  the  caucus,  the  Civil 
Service,  and  Parliament.  The  average  boy  or  girl  may 
be  too  foolish  or  too  divorced  from  the  facts  of  life  (owing 
to  his  parents)  to  understand  the  interest  of  these  things. 
But  then  a  lot  of  education  has  got  to  remain  drudgery 
until  all  teachers  are  Egerias.  And  facts  about  existing 
government  are  as  good  for  the  average  boy  or  girl  in  his 
or  her  teens  as  any  other  facts.  Some  of  them  will  stick 
and  bear  fruit  in  the  mind  when  the  boy  or  girl  comes 
to  read  the  newspaper  or  vote,  or  be  asked  to  join  a 
political  organization. 

The  Amphitheatre  here  is  a  wonderful  place;  part  of 
the  arena  is  occupied  by  a  circus,  and  acrobatic  erections, 
and  advertisements  of  Velma  milk  chocolate  !  I  suppose 
it  is  really  not  suited  to  most  of  the  best  modern  sports, 
it  is  not  big  enough  for  running  or  to  start  aeroplanes  from. 
What  a  pity  it  isn't  a  theatre !  There  is  a  Roman  theatre 
here,  but  it  is  much  smaller  and  more  broken,  and  also 
has  a  church  in  the  middle. 

Italy  interests  me  tremendously,  but  one  cannot  pick 
up  any  but  the  most  superficial  sociological  information  by 
casually  staying  here,  and  I  don't  allow  rrvyself  to  humbug 
myself  that  I  am  more  interested  in  churches  and  pictures 
than  I  actually  am.  I  did  not  like  the  cathedral  here  as 
a  whole  nearly  as  much  as  several  English  cathedrals — of 


90  KEELING  LETTERS 

course  it  is  utterly  different.  But  there  are  some  little 
Romanesque  colonnades  and  a  little  Basilica  which  are 
very  pleasing.  I  wonder  the  cool  of  the  churches 
doesn't  make  them  more  popular.  I  don't  know  if 
Roman  Catholics  are  beginning  to  justify  their  practices 
by  the  argument  that  their  physical  effects  induce  good 
spiritual  results.  I  was  much  amused  by  a  young  High 
Church  Socialist  friend  of  mine  justifying  fasting  on 
hygienic  grounds.  If  I  were  in  Verona  I  would  use  the 
churches  as  an  alternative  to  the  public  baths  in  summer. 

To  the  Same. 

ROUNDHAY,  LEEDS. 

7  August,  1911. 

I  have  been  reading  a  book  on  Italy  by  Bolton  King 
and  Okey.  It  is  very  good  and  interesting  in  view  of  the 
events  of  to-day.  Last  night  I  did  not  turn  to  my  ordinary 
work,  but  read  in  a  textbook  of  modern  history  the  story 
of  the  Franco-Prussian  War,  and  the  outlines  of  diplomatic 
history  since  then.  I  feel  more  and  more  the  utter  irrele- 
vance of  diplomacy  to  the  real  needs  of  people,  and  the 
absurd  gullibility  of  the  whole  of  us — the  utter  absence 
of  the  elements  of  reasonableness  in  foreign  affairs.  What 
does  it  all  matter  to  the  proletariat  and  peasantry  of 
Europe  ?  They  want  good  government,  reasonable  organ- 
ization. They  have  no  interest  in  these  silly  squabbles 
over  precedence  and  national  honour,  which  themselves 
bear  no  necessary  relation  to  valuable  traditions  and  noble 
sentiments.  And  yet  the  feelings  of  Frenchmen  and 
Germans  are  perfectly  intelligible  after  the  history  of  the 
past  centuries,  and  in  particular  the  last  fifty  years.  Vernon 
Lee's  letter  in  the  Nation  was  interesting.  I  am  glad  she 
raises  her  voice  against  this  damnable  Anglo-French  En- 
tente. I  don't  feel  cocksure  about  my  idea  of  the  expansion 
of  Germany.  Of  course  the  curious  thing  is  that  Prussia 
does  not  want  Germany  to  expand  in  Europe,  because 
she  would  then  cease  to  be  able  to  out-vote  the  rest  of 
Germany,  and  the  Dutch  and  Austrians  would  certainly 
be  on  the  whole  a  peaceful  and  liberal  force  iu  the  Empire. 
I  don't  feel  so  wrathful  against  Italy  over  the  Tripoli 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  91 

question  as  most  English  people,  especially  Liberals,  seem 
to  be.  I  think  North  Africa  has  got  to  be  brought  within 
the  sphere  of  Western  European  Government,  and  I  don't 
think  the  muddle  in  South  Italy  is  an  adequate  reason 
for  stopping  Italy  if  she  wants  to  have  a  share  in  the 
job.  On  the  other  hand,  I  doubt  if  she  can  afford  it. 
It  will  probably  cost  the  Government  a  good  lot,  and 
reading  about  Italian  poverty  is  horrible.  It  seems  prob- 
able, on  the  whole,  that  the  Italians  will  do  better  for 
Tripoli  than  the  Young  Turks.  I  expect  angry  letters 
from  Liberals  in  the  next  Nation  if  any  one  troubles  to 
go  on  with  the  correspondence. 

To  the  Same. 

ROUNDHAY,  LF.F.DS. 

14  August,  1911. 

...  I  am  in  a  queer  mood,  not  dismal  but  rather 
solemn.  I  feel  I  am  growing  so  confoundedly  old,  or 
rather  experienced  in  life.  I  have  lived  through  ten 
years  in  the  last  two.  I  know  I  am  almost  a  different 
man  from  what  I  was  when  I  came  up  here. 

One  of  the  things  which  I  can  scarcely  understand  is 
the  extraordinary  clearness  with  which  I  am  able  to  see 
my  own  mistakes,  even  quite  a  short  way  back.  I  think 
there  must  be  something  queer  about  the  relation  and 
functions  of  intellect  and  instinct  in  me.  Sometimes  I 
seem  to  use  intellect  when  most  people  would  go  by  instinct 
(or  convention),  and  sometimes,  though  less  commonly, 
I  trust  to  impulse  when  most  people  would  calculate,  or 
probably  not  act  at  all.  I  feel  I  don't  know  what  I  am 
turning  into.  I  know  if  I  once  get  a  sure  grip  on  life  and 
a  definite  direction  I  have  enormous  powers,  which  have 
to  a  large  extent  been  frittered  away,  or  at  any  rate  spent 
in  gaining  experience  during  the  last  four  years. 

I  feel  at  this  moment  a  sort  of  confidence  that  I  shall 
eventually  find  a  fairly  clearly  defined  life-work,  and  that 
it  is  only  natural,  my  character  being  what  it  is,  that  I 
should  have  twisted  and  turned  a  bit  for  a  few  years.  If 
that  is  the  case  I  know  I  shall  not  regret  these  years, 
because  I  have  certainly  become  wiser  in  them  than  if 


92  KEELING  LETTERS 

I  had  been  in  the,  to  me,  far  happier  (and  in  a  sense  more 
"  natural  ")  state  of  a  sort  of  elan  of  work-inspiration, 
steadily,  ceaselessly,  remorselessly,  pouring  down  like  a 
mountain  stream  with  whirlpools,  waterfalls,  and  side 
pools,  but  no  stopping  in  the  main. 

To  the  Same. 

ROUNDHAY,  LEEDS. 

18  August,  1911. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  your  letter.  I  have  not 
written  because  my  mind  has  been  very  full  of  many 
things  in  a  confused  way,  and  I  have  been  much  more 
devoid  of  definite  impressions  than  I  generally  am. 

I  thought  of  coming  down  to  see  you  by  the  excursion 
train  on  Sunday,  but  it  is  doubtful  now  whether  the  trains 
will  be  running  again,  and  in  any  case  I  think  perhaps 
I  had  best  stay  and  work.  I  have  been  getting  on  with 
my  book  slowly.  I  enjoy  life  most  when  I  am  writing 
it  now.  The  warring  of  ideas  and  impressions  in  my 
mind  when  I  am  not  at  it  is  troublesome.  Marion  Paris, 
at  the  end  of  her  last  letter,  wished  me  peace  of  mind. 
I  suppose  I  shall  get  it  again  some  day,  but  it  seems  far 
off  now. 

The  strike  is  magnificent.  Nothing  else  really  matters. 
It  is  strange  to  see  things  in  Leeds,  crowds  of  railway  men 
in  the  streets,  most  of  them  extraordinarily  solemn  and 
sober  men,  in  their  Sunday  clothes,  just  as  you  see  them 
in  an  Adult  School  or  a  P.S.A.  meeting,  very  English. 
By  God !  there  is  good  stuff  there,  for  all  its  dumbness  and 
slowness.  Of  course  they  are  an  extraordinary  contrast 
with  the  dockers.  They  are  never  unemployed,  and  the 
dockers  are  chronically  under-employed.  At  dinner-time 
I  saw  detachments  of  Lancers  come  out  of  one  of  the 
stations  through  a  large  crowd.  Hundreds  of  soldiers  have 
been  sent  into  Leeds.  There  has  been  hardly  any  disorder, 
or  even  horse-play,  but  a  lot  of  successful  picketing. 

In  one  of  the  Liberal  Christian  epochs  of  my  youth  I 
used  to  offer  up  prayers  to  God  with  a  mental  qualification, 
"  if  He  exists,"  for  the  sake  of  honesty.  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
almost  pray  now  in  the  same  way  for  the  strikers.  It 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  93 

will  be  an  awful  thing  if  they  are  in  any  way  defeated. 
I  think  the  Government  have  not  done  so  badly  on  the 
whole.  Of  course  one  doesn't  know  if  they  are  pressing 
the  companies  to  recognize  the  Unions.  It  is  ridiculous 
that  they  should  not.  They  are  not  Gods  Almighty  any 
more  than  the  Engineering  Federation,  the  Shipbuilding 
Federation,  or  the  Coal  Owners'  Association,  and  all  these 
have  fully  recognized  collective  bargaining.  In  a  way 
the  Government  guaranteeing  to  get  food  through  may  help 
the  strikers ;  it  means  that  an  absolute  panic  cannot 
arise,  and  the  cessation  of  passenger  traffic  and  coal  traffic 
is  enough  to  paralyse  business  and  industry.  I  am  not 
sure  that  the  strikers  would  not  be  wise  to  let  food  through, 
and  rigidly  exclude  everything  else.  .  .  . 

It  is  awful  to  feel  one  can  do  nothing  personally  to  help 
in  the  struggle.  If  it  were  really  Civil  War,  would  not 
I  be  at  the  barricades  ?  But,  alas !  one  has  to  be  content 
with  the  invisible  bond  which  unites  one  with  the  cause 
of  humanity.  In  a  way  this  reminds  me  of  the  years  of 
my  boyhood,  when  I  had  not  a  single  friend  who  thought 
or  felt  as  I  did,  and  yet  I  felt  that  I  was  bound  to  those 
who  were  working  for  the  cause,  though  I  might  never 
know  them,  and  learned  to  be  satisfied  with  the  consciousness 
of  unity. 

God  help  the  strikers,  if  there  be  a  God !  In  any  case, 
they  must  help  themselves. 

To  the  Same. 

ROUNDHAY,  LEEDS. 

25  August,  IQII.     7  p.m. 

I  have  sworn  to  get  three  or  four  hours  a  day  at  my 
book,  but  I  will  just  write  a  few  lines  to  you  before  I  begin. 
I  am  feeling  very  happy  to-night.  I  feel  that  it  is  a  great 
thing  to  have  discovered  that  I  have  some  power  of  writing, 
and  enough  intelligence  and  instinct  for  detail  to  enable 
me  to  do  research  of  some  sort  in  sociology.  It  is  a  sort 
of  sure  resource.  I  feel  that  whatever  happens  to  me  in 
the  course  of  the  next  few  years  I  can  always  turn  to  that 
as  a  means  of  expressing  myself  in  useful  work.  I  don't 
think  I  get  more  steady  and  solid  enjoyment  from  anything 


94  KEELING  LETTERS 

than  from  gradually  collecting  and  sifting  material,  and 
finally  shaping  it  into  a  form  which  means  some  small 
addition  to  the  world's  knowledge,  however  small  an 
addition  it  may  be. 

1  have  got  the  scheme  of  the  second  chapter  of  my  book 
clearly  thought  out,  have  nearly  finished  the  first  sorting 
of  the  pile  of  notes,  and  shall  begin  writing  to-night.  .  .  . 
I  am  going  to  try  to  get  Lord  Henry  Bentinck  to  ask  a 
question  in  the  House  about  using  postmen  for  the  distri- 
bution of  newspapers,  so  as  to  do  away  with  the  labour  of 
wage-earning  children.  I  think  the  P.O.  might  do  it 
at  a  profit,  and  yet  at  a  cheaper  rate  to  the  newspapers 
than  the  retailers.  Of  course  the  retailers  would  object, 
but  if  the  newspaper-owners  were  on  the  other  side  they 
would  not  matter  so  much.  ...  I  enjoy  working  here, 
facing  the  sunset,  hugely.  To-morrow  I  shall  work  at 
my  book  most  of  the  afternoon  and  evening.  On  Sunday 
Heron  and  I  are  going  to  cycle  out  from  here  to  the  moors 
and  then  tramp  all  day.  By  God !  I  have  more  than  my 
share  of  the  good  things  of  life  externally.  I  daresay  I 
have  been  slightly  less  happy  than  the  average  on  the 
whole,  but  I  have  a  lot  to  be  thankful  for.  One  needs 
regular  work  for  so  many  hours  a  day  to  appreciate  the 
simple  blessings  of  life — food,  light,  and  air — most  keenly. 

Sunday  morning,  27  August,  1911.  8  o'clock. 
I  must  just  scribble  you  a  few  lines  while  I  wait  for 
Heron  to  come  down  to  breakfast.  I  have  got  my  old 
green  coat  on,  which  is  the  colour  of  the  earth  and  smells 
of  a  hundred  moors  and  hills.  We  shall  be  setting  out 
shortly  for  a  day  in  the  wilds.  There  is  a  glorious  view 
as  you  descend  to  the  valley  of  the  Wharfe,  about  four 
miles  from  here.  We  shall  cycle  along  that  road  to  the 
edge  of  the  moors  and  then  walk.  I  have  been  up  since 
about  seven  repairing  my  sofa,  of  which  the  bottom  has 
entirely  burst.  By  driving  in  three  great  blocks  of  wood 
across  the  frame  I  have  obviated  the  necessity  for  re- 
upholstery  and  rendered  the  sofa  a  sort  of  symbol  of  the 
social  organism  in  its  botched-up  grogginess. 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  95 

I  expect  you  will  quarrel  at  the  phrase  "  illusion  of  free 
will."  But  I  have  been  a  convinced  predestinationist 
ever  since  I  was  a  boy,  and  my  convictions  were  strength- 
ened at  Cambridge  by  the  arguments  of  the  best  philoso- 
phers, it  doesn't  make  much  difference  which  view  you 
take  to  questions  of  practical  conduct.  But  it  makes  a 
little  difference  as  regards  one's  attitude  in  certain  situa- 
tions. Had  I  lived  in  the  seventeenth  century  I  should 
have  been  a  fine  old  Calvinist. 

To  the  Same. 

ROUNDHAY,  LEEDS. 

28  August,  1911.     9  p.m. 

I  have  been  too  sleepy  to  do  any  work  to-night,  partly 
as  the  result  of  a  lot  of  cycling  yesterday.  We  had  a  great 
day  oil  the  moors,  and  a  bathe  in  the  Wharfe.  I  read 
your  two  papers  on  Zola  in  the  evening,  and  liked  them 
immensely. 

Yes,  that  stuff  of  Bergson's  is  good,  and  I  expect  it  is 
wholly  right.  And  yet  some  of  us  have  got  the  devil  in 
us  to  such  an  extent  that  the  doctrine  of  self-expression 
can't  form  a  complete  ethical  code.  There  may  be  too 
little  of  it  in  me,  but  there  is  also  too  little  of  the  power 
to  root  out.  I  don't  suppose  I  could  ever  make  any  one 
else — not  even  you — understand  what  I  mean,  except  by 
writing  a  history  of  my  life  as  full  as  Rousseau.  I  believe 
I  could  do  that,  but  I  don't  expect  I  ever  shall ;  my  work 
lies  in  other  directions.  And  yet  it  may  be  that  salvation 
might  be  found  by  nourishing  the  human  so  that  the 
devilish  was  extinguished  unawares.  I  don't  know.  I 
don't  expect  I  ever  shall  know. 

To  the  Same. 

ROUNDHAY,  LEEDS. 

5  October,  1911. 

I  didn't  get  your  letter  till  late  last  night — after  eleven 
o'clock — as  I  was  at  Huddersfield  in  the  evening.  Miss 
M.  is  going  to  put  up  a  fight  against  the  Board  of  Trade 
about  her  marriage,  and  I  shall  back  her  up  in  any  way 
I  can.  I  have  got  little  or  nothing  to  lose  as  far  as  position 


96  KEELING  LETTERS 

and  reputation  go.  I  am  also  trying  to  help  an  agitation 
for  higher  pay  for  our  clerks.  The  worst  of  it  is  they  are 
all  hoping  to  get  the  next  vacancy  in  a  higher  rank,  and 
are  scrambling  against  each  other  for  it,  and  don't  show 
a  proper  spirit  of  combination.  Most  of  the  managers 
care  too  much  about  their  own  positions  to  lift  a  finger. 
However,  S.  and  I  are  going  to  back  the  clerks.  I  wish 
we  were  still  under  Churchill.  By  God !  that  man  makes 
good  speeches.  I  didn't  agree  with  all  he  said  at  Dundee, 
but  he  was  jolly  good  on  the  national  minimum,  and  of 
course  the  right  to  strike  has  got  to  be  given  up  for  that 
— it's  worth  nothing  except  sentiment  (and  that  of  a  bad 
kind),  if  you  can  get  better  machinery. 

To  the  Same. 

ROUNDHAY,  LEEDS. 

8  October,  ign. 

I  am  fair  sick  of  things  to-night — damned  miserable 
with  a  filthy  sore  throat  and  about  fifteen  things  which 
occurred  simultaneously  to  worry  me  to-day.  However, 
I  have  just  read  a  jolly  story  of  Conrad's  ("  Youth  "). 
I  feel  I  have  got  youth,  which  is  not  a  matter  of  age 
really,  and  it  will  take  a  damned  lot  to  down  me.  When 
I  feel  a  bit  sick,  it  is  generally  as  much  due  to  being  tired 
as  anything.  I  often  think  of  the  dog's  life  I  led  for  five 
years  in  my  boyhood.  At  any  rate,  I  shall  never  go  through 
that  again,  and  I  know  that  my  future  depends  as  much 
on  what  goes  on  inside  me  as  on  what  goes  on  outside ; 
and  if  "  freedom  "  means  anything  it  means  that — and 
behind  freedom  there  is  Fate,  offering  eternal  satisfaction 
to  those  who  have  courage  to  conceive  it. 

I  am  sick  of  the  silly  injustices  which  are  caused  by 
the  inadvertence  of  the  comfortable.  I  have  written  a 
letter  to  Miss  Clapham  to  try  and  get  a  woman  clerk,  who 
is  being  disgracefully  paid,  a  proper  salary.  The  letter 
reflects  on  my  divisional  officer,  and  if  Miss  Clapham  feels 
she  cannot  regard  it  as  private  (which  she  well  may),  I 
shall  be  in  the  hell  of  a  mess.  However,  the  mess  which 
I  should  be  in  would  be  no  worse  for  me  than  penury  is 
for  that  woman.  So  what  matter  ?  And  be  damned  to 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  97 

the  possibilities!  I  will  not  try  to  be  discreet  at  the 
expense  of  such  generous  emotions  as  I  do  have — though 
I  could  do  with  a  good  deal  more  discretion  in  other 
directions. 

Must  sleep. 

Good-night. 

PS. — The  woman  clerk  is  not  attractive — I  haven't 
spoken  to  her  half  a  dozen  times,  and  shan't  half  a  dozen 
times  more.  No  risks  in  that  direction.  I  thought  you 
would  think  there  were.  Anyhow,  she  won't  know  I 
wrote. 

To  the  Same. 

ROUNDHAY,  LEEDS. 

10  October,   1911. 

...  I  am  coming  to  place  my  friendships  with  women 
on  as  high  a  plane  as  my  friendships  with  men.  It  is  a 
change  which  has  been  coming  gradually  in  my  outlook. 
I  feel  the  meaning  of  the  equality  of  woman  with  man 
far  more  than  when  I  was  a  good  deal  louder  in  my 
advocacy  of  it.  I  don't  know  why — but  I  feel  the  inner 
part  of  me  has  become  enormously  humanized  in  the  last 
year.  I  don't  think  I  ever  had  such  clear  vision  of  my 
own  weaknesses  as  I  have  at  the  present  minute.  I  feel  I 
have  done  practically  nothing  to  justify  the  huge  debt 
I  owe  to  society,  and  I  see  the  past  chiefly  as  a  waste  of 
intelligence  and  energy  due  to  stupid  uncontrolled  impul- 
siveness. I  don't  know  whether  a  man  ever  remedies 
such  faults  by  seeing  them.  As  far  as  I  can  make  out 
few  men  do  see  much  of  their  own  faults,  or  ever  get  a 
glimpse  of  themselves  as  others  see  them.  I  am  more 
and  more  astounded  at  the  childlike  simplicity  of  men  of 
forty.  I  see  again  and  again  that  they  have  never  analysed 
their  own  motives  as  bitter  experience  is  causing  me  to 
do  now.  I  don't  feel  superior  for  it.  I  never  felt  so 
humble  since  I  left  school  as  I  do  now.  As  a  boy  I  had 
many  vices,  but  very  little  conceit.  I  haven't  been  over- 
whelmed with  it  at  any  time,  but  I  have  certainly  had 
too  good  an  opinion  of  myself,  or  at  any  rate  acted  on  the 
assumption  of  my  own  importance  too  much  of  late. 

8 


98  KEELING  LETTERS 

Arnold  Bennett  has  given  me  a  different  sort  of  insight 
into  individuals  to  that  which  I  learnt  from  Wells  and 
Shaw  and  Galsworthy — and  in  many  ways  a  more  pro- 
found one.  I  find  myself  continually  reminded  of  the 
external  limitations  which  narrow  the  lives  of  the  vast 
majority  of  men  and  women,  and  half  ashamed  of  the 
matter-of-fact  way  in  which  I  accept  my  own  freedom. 
I  think  again  and  again  of  the  limits  set  by  material  cir- 
cumstances in  the  lives  of  the  clerks  whom  I  see  and  talk 
to  every  day.  They  will  never  be  able  to  play  with  life 
as  I  have  played  with  it.  And  yet  they  give  disinterested 
enthusiasm  to  the  same  causes  which  I  profess  to  follow 
— how  much  more  honourable  than  mine.  Yet  I  don't 
regret  much  of  the  past — very  little  of  it.  I  think  in 
many  ways  with  my  headstrong  and  blind  impetuousness 
I  might  have  done  a  good  deal  more  harm  both  to  others 
and  to  myself  before  I  came  to  a  sense  of  the  fatuousness 
of  much  of  my  methods  of  procedure.  I  believe  there  is 
some  chance  that  I  may  have  enough  will  power  to  make 
a  better  business  of  life,  both  for  others  and  for  myself.  .  .  . 

To  the  Same. 

ROUNDHAY,  LEEDS. 

15  November,  1911. 

I  have  had  a  great  fit  of  energy  lately,  owing  to  that 
tramp  on  the  moors,  and  owing  to  running  in  the  early 
morning.  I  ran  a  mile  or  two  at  6.45  yesterday.  To-day 
I  got  up  at  5.30  and  ran  two  miles.  It  was  nearly  pitch 
dark,  and  I  came  a  frightful  whack  off  a  grass  bank  on 
to  a  road  and  tore  my  hands  and  knees  a  bit.  However, 
I  have  got  a  couple  of  hours  in  at  my  book  since. 

That  London  job  question  has  come  up  again,  this  time 
semi-officially.  I  don't  think  I  shall  take  it,  even  if  I  could 
get  it,  which  I  am  not  quite  sure  about.  I  don't  believe 
much  can  be  made  of  it  for  many  reasons,  which  are  diffi- 
cult to  explain.  You  don't  realize  my  weaknesses  as  well 
as  I  do.  I  am  not  so  tremendously  good  at  administration 
itself,  though  I  have  more  ideas  as  to  improving  it  than 
most  administrators  seem  to  have.  The  two  functions 
are  not  the  same  altogether. 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  99 

To  the  Same. 

MONDAY  MORNING  IN  THE  TRAIN.' 

19  November,  ign.     8.45  a.m. 

I  certainly  have  had  a  jolly  good  time,  talking  about 

social  reform  the  whole  time.     But  I  had  no  idea  

was  so  wealthy.  The  stupendous  amount  of  expenditure 
which  goes  on  in  his  place  absolutely  appalled  me.  By 
God !  it  is  ridiculous  that  people  should  spend  money  to 

this  extent. is  a  very  simple  chap,  and  no  doubt  it 

is  simply  a  matter  of  habit  with  him.  He  would  be  just 
as  happy  with  a  dinner  of  two  lots  of  food  as  with  one  of 
six  or  eight,  only  the  six  or  eight  just  go  on.  We  all 
went  to  church  on  Sunday  morning.  It  is  the  first  time 
I  have  ever  been  to  a  service  in  a  village  church  for  twelve 
or  fifteen  years.  I  see  they  have  altered  the  Litany.  We 
now  pray  for  Parliament  as  well  as  the  Lords  of  the  Council 
and  the  nobility.  The  whole  atmosphere  in  church  was 
just  what  I  remember  as  a  child  so  well.  Every  one  in 
his  own  proper  station :  the  atmosphere  which  I  revolted 
against,  inspired  partly  by  Matthew  Arnold  and  partly  by 
eighteenth-century  equalitarianism,  and  hating  Bladesover 
like  hell.  Bladesover  gave  me  hell  for  five  years  at 
Winchester,  and  I  shall  hate  it  to  my  dying  day, 
though  I  can  exempt  individual  Bladesoverites  from  my 
hatred  in  a  way  in  which  I  could  not  and  would  not 
a  year  ago.  -  is  a  good  ally  in  the  fight  against 

"  the  dark  Satanic  mills "  (we  were  reading  Blake 
together  last  night). 

I  always  enjoy  talking  about  Yorkshire  people  with 
Bagenal.  We  both  have  a  deep  sense  of  being  aliens  in 
the  land,  and  are  both  irritated  by  the  frequently  ignorant 
self-sufficiency  which  we  believe  the  Yorkshireman  has 
more  than  any  other  type  of  Englishman. 

I  think  too  much  of  the  governing  class  atmosphere 
would  be  bad  for  me.  I  feel  I  cannot  get  close  enough 
to  the  facts  with  which  I  am  trying  to  deal.  It  is  so 

1  After  a  weck-cud  visit  at  a  country  house. 


100  KEELING  LETTERS 

hard  to  catch  the  atmosphere — the  subtle  interaction  of 
administrative  machinery  and  personal  character,  to  bear 
constantly  in  mind  the  subjective  point  of  view  that  is 
necessary,  as  well  as  objective  induction,  to  a  truly  scientific 
sociology.  No  doubt  the  objective  facts  are  enough  for 
the  average  social  politician,  the  average  administrator, 
the  average  sociologist ;  but  I  want  to  widen  and  ripen  my 
experience  and  cultivate  my  subtlety  of  perception  so  much 
that  I  shall  feel  instinctively  the  subjective  significance  of 
every  Blue-book  fact.  At  present  I  am  more  and  more 
conscious  of  my  shortcomings  in  that  respect.  But  I  am 
not  going  to  exaggerate  the  importance  of  the  subjective 
point  of  view.  Only  ideally  I  feel  we  should  treat  all 
facts  from  both.  The  real  struggle  in  the  sociology  of  the 
future  is  not  going  to  be  between  the  inductive  and  deduc- 
tive method — that  battle  is  over.  The  battle  is  going 
to  range  between  the  claims — frequently  exaggerated — on 
both  sides  of  the  objective  and  subjective  methods. 
Psychology  is  the  new  rival  of  objective  induction. 

It  seems  to  me  that  nothing  is  harder  than  for  a  man 
who  has  been  brought  up  in  one  stratum  of  society  to 
realize  the  differences  which  different  economic  circum- 
stances make  in  the  attitude  of  men  in  other  classes  towards 
the  elementary  facts  of  life.  Many  people  with  burning 
social  sympathy  never  realize  these  differences.  (I  doubt 
if  Shaftesbury  ever  did.  Lloyd  George  does  to  some 
extent — almost  every  man  who  has  really  lived  in 
different  classes  does,  unless  he  forgets,  which  they  some- 
times do  in  the  most  extraordinary  way.)  How  many 
people  who  quite  rightly  advocate  raising  the  school  age 
by  a  year  realize  that  the  immediate  effect  is  an  income 
tax  of  2s.  6d.  to  6s.  in  the  pound  on  most  working-class 
families,  as  the  Webbs  point  out  ?  But  one  advocates  the 
raising  of  the  age  much  better  if  one  really  has  that  in 
mind  all  the  time.  Coming  into  Leeds  .  .  . 


The  following  six  letters  on  Factory  Legislation  under  Home 
Rule  are  addressed  to  Miss  Sanger,  Secretary  of  the  International 
Association  for  Labour  Legislation  (British  Section). 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  101 

LEEDS.     30  December,  ign. 

Many  thanks  for  your  letter.  Can't  you  make  the 
Executive  take  some  action  soon — or  some  members  of 
it — as  well  as  circularize  all  members  ?  Are  there  any 
Irish  M.P.'s  you  can  approach  ?  The  question  has  been 
so  little  discussed  that  I  think  hardly  any  one  understands  it. 

I  think  it  was  that  man,  H.,  who  used  the  argument  to 
me  that  it  would  pay  England  if  Ireland  sweated  its 
workers,  in  accordance  with  the  pure  theory  of  international 
exchange.  You  know  I  hate  him. 

LEEDS.     4  January,  1912. 

.  .  .  The  Government  and  Redmond  have  more  or  less 
made  it  clear  that  they  require  Irish  Home  Rule  as  the 
beginning  of  Home  Rule  all  round.  Welsh  Home  Rule 
seems  to  be  coming  very  close  to  the  views  of  practical 
politics,  and  Scottish  Home  Rule  is  not  much  behind. 
Personally  I  am  a  specimen  of  that  rara  avis,  a  pure-bred 
Englishman  for  an  indefinite  number  of  generations  back, 
and  in  my  lower  moments  I  have  hated  the  alien  Scotch, 
Welsh,  and  Irish,  who  in  certain  ways  keep  England  from 
coming  to  her  own.  I  am  very  keen  on  English  Home 
Rule,  and  I  hope  that  English  people  will  soon  begin  to 
feel  the  necessity  for  it.  But  what  I  was  going  to  say 
before  this  digression  is  that  I  think  we  may  argue  on  the 
assumption  that  Home  Rule  all  round  is  coming,  and  that 
makes  our  case  a  good  deal  stronger  than  if  an  Irish 
Parliament  alone  were  contemplated. 

As  regards  the  average  Liberal,  the  great  thing  is  to 
get  into  his  woolly  head  that  the  details  of  federal  schemes 
are — or  at  any  rate  should  be — a  matter  of  political  science 
and  not  of  Gladstonian  sentimentalism. 

By  the  way,  in  the  course  of  researches  for  my  book  on 
the  Medical  Supervision  of  Juvenile  Workers  I  came  across 
a  speech  of  John  Cam  Hobhouse's  in  1825,  which  gave 
as  a  precedent  for  factory  legislation  an  act  regulating 
the  hours  of  shipwrights'  apprentices  in  Ireland.  I  am 
hoping,  when  I  have  finished  the  book — I  am  in  sight  of 
the  end  now — and  when  I  can  get  to  London  for  a  bit, 
to  write  some  stuff  about  various  points  in  the  early  history 


102  KEELING  LETTERS 

of  factory  legislation,  and  this  is  one  of  the  things  I  want 
to  look  into.  It  would  be  interesting  if  one  found  that 
it  was  an  act  of  Grattan's  Parliament. 

There  is  a  lot  of  interesting  stuff  about  the  early  history 
of  the  Factory  Acts  which  hasn't  been  brought  to  light. 
There  was  a  man  called  Thomas  Worsley,  of  Stockport, 
to  whom  I  should  like  to  erect  a  statue.  He  was  a  cotton 
and  also  a  silk  weaver,  and  ultimately  a  shopkeeper  in 
Stockport.  But  he  was  also  a  champion  amateur  factory 
inspector  before  the  official  chaps  came  along,  and  con- 
ducted seventy  prosecutions  altogether.  In  Bradford  I 
found  an  old  pamphlet  in  which  official  factory  inspectors 
were  advocated  on  the  analogy  of  the  protector  of  slaves 
who  had  been  appointed  in  the  West  Indies. 

I  have  just  come  across  a  case  of  a  girl  of  about  thirteen 
sent  by  the  Labour  Exchange  to  a  shop,  who  has  been 
told  she  must  work  till  n  p.m.  on  Saturdays.  This,  of 
course,  is  an  infringement  of  the  law  (Employment  of 
Children  Act,  1903).  We  have  sent  several  cases  to  the 
Town  Clerk,  but  nothing  gets  done.  I  am  getting  a  bit 
sick  of  being  an  impartial  Labour  Exchange  official,  and 
I  wish  I  could  go  in  for  wringing  some  of  these  devils' 
necks  sometimes.  The  Aire  and  Calder  Canal  Company 
makes  untold  dividends,  and  pays  its  casuals  in  Leeds 
5d.  an  hour,  and  absolutely  casual  work  at  that.  They 
paid  4d.  till  recently,  but  two  strikes  have  brought  it  to 
5d.  Then  there  is  the  Post  Office.  I  got  Lord  Henry 
Bentinck  to  ask  a  question  about  their  casuals.  Samuel 
admitted  4Jd.-6d.  an  hour  was  the  wage,  and  "  did  not 
propose,"  etc.  And  I  have  to  remain  dumb.  It  is  jolly 
hard.  But  it  is  no  good  doing  anything.  I  have  just 
been  hauled  before  the  General  Manager  of  the  Exchange 
for  agitating  about  our  clerks'  wages — and  accused,  abso- 
lutely unjustly,  of  generally  "  fomenting  discontent."  The 
discontent  did  not  need  any  fomenting,  thank  God !  I 
only  made  a  speech  at  a  meeting  of  Labour  Exchange 
officers,  but  all  the  men  in  better-paid  positions,  except 
two  others,  ratted  like  polecats.  Sometimes  I  think  I 
shall  commit  one  blazing  indiscretion  and  go  burst.  How- 
ever, this  is  not  to  the  point. 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  103 

NORTHAMPTON. 

17  January,  1912. 

I  sent  for  Basil  Williams'  "  Home  Rule  Problems " 
(published  by  P.  S.  King  and  Son,  is.)  the  other  day  to 
see  if  any  of  the  writers  had  anything  to  say  about  Home 
Rule  and  Factory  Acts.  The  whole  scheme  on  pp.  8  and 
9  seems  to  me  singularly  ill-conceived  and  impracticable, 
but  you  might  note  the  suggestion  that  Royal  Assent 
should  be  specially  received  for  the  case  of  Factory  Acts. 

Pease  has  written  me  that  the  Fabian  Executive,  except 
an  objectional  minority — probably  obstreperous  feminists 
of  the  pernicious  type — approve  our  ideas.  He  has  been 
asked  to  consult  MacDonald  and  other  Labour  leaders 
and  report. 

I  see  the  Bill  is  not  to  be  produced  till  April.  If  this 
is  correct,  it  gives  us  a  bit  more  time. 

LEEDS.     21  February,  1912. 

Many  thanks  for  your  postcard.  The  idea  is  apparently 
spreading.  I  have  written  an  article  on  the  whole  question 
of  the  enforcement  of  Labour  legislation  by  local  authori- 
ties and  by  provincial  authorities  in  the  foreshadowed 
United  Kingdom  federal  system  for  the  Women's  Industrial 
News.  I  have  asked  them  if  they  don't  want  it  to  let  me 
have  it  back  soon.  I  rather  wish  now  that  I  had  tried 
to  get  it  into  one  of  the  regular  monthly  reviews. 

Has  the  idea  of  trying  to  get  an  Imperial  Bureau  of 
Labour,  jointly  supported  by  the  U.K.  and  all  the  States 
and  dependencies  in  the  Empire,  ever  been  mooted — on 
the  lines  of  the  U.S.A.  Bureau  of  Labour  ?  It  might  be 
a  good  thing  to  bring  the  public  opinion  of  the  Empire 
to  bear  on  the  laggard  Governments,  and  it  would  get 
people  into  the  habit  of  thinking  internationally,  or  at 
least  in  inter-State  terms,  about  Labour  legislation.  The 
Tories  might  possibly  be  keener  on  it  than  the  Liberals. 
The  Bureau  should  issue  an  annual  Report  on  the  Labour 
legislation  of  the  Empire  and  its  enforcement,  and  under- 
take special  inquiries.  It  might  even  be  given  some 
administrative  power  in  connection  with  the  negotiation 


104  KEELING  LETTERS 

of  international  treaties  and  proposals  for  securing  uni- 
formity of  Labour  legislation  in  the  different  parts  of  the 
Empire.  If  there  is  anything  in  the  idea,  might  we  not 
try  to  get  it  brought  forward  at  the  next  Imperial  Con- 
ference ?  I  have  just  written  to  Miss  V.  R.  Markham, 
who  is  very  keen  on  imperial  questions,  about  it.  I 
also  just  alluded  to  the  idea  in  my  article  referred  to. 

There  might  be  something  to  be  said  for  the  Bureau 
having  its  headquarters  in  Canada,  but  I  am  not  sure 
about  this. 

LEEDS.     3  March,  1912. 

...  I  think  the  critical  point  in  your  revised  draft  is 
the  last  sentence  of  the  second  paragraph,  which  implies 
that  the  United  Kingdom  Parliament  should  be  debarred 
from  legislating,  except  "  in  matters  of  international 
importance." 

In  point  of  fact,  if  we  take  the  ground  specially  on  that, 
as  I  said,  I  think  we  are  almost  likely  to  do  more  harm 
than  good  to  the  general  cause  of  centralization  of  Labour 
legislation.  Leaving  out  of  account  for  the  moment  the 
general  devolution  question,  it  is  really  a  piece  of  bluff 
for  us  to  pretend  that  to  allow  Ireland  to  make  her  own 
Factory  Acts  would  debar  us  from  adhesion  to  treaties ; 
because  Ireland  would  simply  be  in  the  position  of  a  colony 
— having  power  to  adhere  later  if  she  liked. 

The  international  aspect  of  the  question  has  really  been, 
in  my  mind,  all  along  mainly — not  wholly — a  stalking- 
horse  for  covering  up  my  general  dislike  of  decentralization 
of  Labour  legislation  on  other  grounds — namely  compe- 
tition as  within  the  United  Kingdom,  and  generally 
keeping  back  of  Labour  legislation  within  the  United 
Kingdom. 

I  presume  the  British  Association  is  concerned,  not  only 
with  the  international  question,  but  also  with  the  inter- 
State  question  as  such  (cf.  your  note  on  the  activities  of 
the  American  Association  in  the  last  World's  Labour  Laws). 

Professor  Morgan's  articles  on  the  Home  Rule  problem 
in  the  Manchester  Guardian  have  been  excellent.  Have 
you  seen  them  ?  If  you  like  I  will  send  you  them.  I 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  105 

have  them  cut  out.  He  has  seen  the  difficulty  in  connexion 
with  Labour  legislation,  and  I  think,  by  his  tone,  takes  our 
view.  But  the  main  point  which  he  makes  is  that  we 
must  bear  in  mind  the  whole  devolution  problem  in  dealing 
with  Ireland,  or  we  get  into  hopeless  constitutional  muddles. 
I  think  it  would  be  well  to  insert  this  point  in  the  memo- 
randum. Redmond  has  accepted  this  view  incidentally. 
If  only  one  can  make  people  see  it,  it  may  do  something 
to  clear  some  of  the  drivelling  Gladstonianism  out  of  their 
minds.  The  general  principle  of  Home  Rule  is  a  matter 
of  sentiment  in  a  sense — though  also  of  logic  and  reason. 
But  the  details  should  be  settled  wholly  by  the  aid  of 
political  science  and  not  by  appeals  to  Gladstone's  beastly 
ghost  and  general  slosh  about  the  principles  of  nationality 
and  faith  in  the  noble  character  of  the  Irish  people  (all 
of  which  I  will  willingly  swallow  after  dinner,  but  not 
when  it  comes  to  working  out  a  scheme  in  the  real  interests 
of  the  whole  country). 

I  am  inclined  to  think  I  should  alter  the  phraseology 
all  through,  so  as  to  make  it  apparent  that  we  have  in 
mind  a  general  scheme  of  devolution  ;  e.g.  at  the  end  of 
paragraph  i,  I  should  say,  "...  any  serious  lack  of  uni- 
formity between  the  Factory  Acts  of  the  different  portions 
of  the  United  Kingdom."  At  the  beginning  of  par.  2,  I 
should  say,  instead  of  "  Irish  Parliament,"  "  provincial 
or  State  Parliaments."  And  so  on  all  through. 

Also,  I  think  I  should  insert  after  paragraph  i  a  non-party 
declaration,  somewhat  as  follows  : — 

"As  a  non-party  organization  the  B.A.L.L.  is  not 
concerned  with  the  general  merits  of  the  question  of  the 
desirability  of  Home  Rule  for  Ireland,  or  any  other  portion 
of  the  United  Kingdom.  But  it  wishes  to  point  out  that 
certain  special  considerations  enter  into  the  question  of 
the  division  of  power  between  the  Central  and  the  proposed 
provincial  or  State  authorities  in  connection  with  Labour 
legislation,  and  it  desires  that  both  Home  Rulers  and 
Unionists  should  deal  with  these  considerations  on  their 
own  merits." 

I  think  the  Unionists  might  well  object  to  the  first  words 
of  your  second  paragraph  as  being  practically  an  assump- 


106  KEELING  LETTERS 

tion  that  the  general  principle  of  Home  Rule  is  right. 
Of  course !  I  am  a  Home  Ruler  and  a  Liberal.  I  am 
wondering  now  whether  you  perhaps  mean  "  inter-State  " 
by  "  international."  In  any  case  I  should  like  to  delete 
the  phrase  and  substitute  something  like  this :  "in  cases 
where  close  commercial  competition  or  adhesion  in  the 
existing  or  projected  international  treaties  renders  uni- 
formity of  conditions  desirable." 

Might  it  not  be  a  sop  to  Cerberus  to  throw  in  my  point, 
that  where,  from  the  nature  of  the  business,  inter-State 
competition  does  not  arise,  it  is  both  reasonable  and 
desirable  that  regulation  should  be  in  the  hands  of  the 
local  Parliament  ? 

Another  line  of  advance  would  be  simply  to  ask  that 
the  Welsh  and  United  Kingdom  Parliaments  should  have 
co-ordinate  powers  of  Labour  legislation,  except  that  the 
local  Parliaments  should  not  have  power  to  cut  down  any 
United  Kingdom  minimum  now  or  hereafter  established. 
This  way  of  putting  it  has  the  merit  of  simplicity. 

I  don't  think  we  could  really  justify  all  we  are  asking 
simply  on  the  international  argument. 

That  is  why  I  want  to  get  the  other  point  in.  But  if 
they  will  only  have  the  international  argument,  I  would 
personally  rather  have  nothing  said  at  all  by  the  Association, 
in  which  case  I  shall  promptly  intrigue  with  Unionists 
and  give  them  all  the  powder  and  shot  on  the  subject  that 
I  can.  I  am  too  little  of  a  party  man  to  feel  bound  by 
party  ties  in  a  matter  of  this  sort.  .  .  . 

I  am  thinking  seriously  of  clearing  out  of  my  official 
position.  I  have  got  just  enough  to  live  on,  and  I  am 
wondering  whether  I  could  do  more  outside.  Is  there 
a  really  large  scope  for  research  and  propaganda  on  Labour 
legislation  on  one's  own,  do  you  think  ?  I  have  thought 
of  trying  to  get  a  factory  inspectorship  for  a  few  years 
so  as  to  get  experience,  but  I  am  afraid  the  Board  of  Trade 
would  give  me  a  bad  character  and  stop  me  getting  to 
the  Home  Office,  even  if  I  could  obtain  the  post  otherwise. 
There  is  not  really  a  great  deal  I  can  do  in  my  present  job, 
and  it  takes  an  awful  lot  of  time — long  hours — and  ties 
me  up.  I  have  been  thinking  for  a  year,  on  and  off,  of 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  107 

devoting  myself  wholly  to  comparative  Labour  legislation 
and  writing  a  book  on  the  principles  and  practice  of  Labour 
legislation  ;  taking  all  branches  of  the  subject  and  all 
countries,  showing  how  the  theory  of  free  contract  and 
inalienable  rights  of  private  property  has  actually  been 
replaced,  as  the  basis  of  society  and  of  security,  by  the 
national  minimum  and  communal  provision,  and  how  each 
form  of  such  State  interference  and  provision  actually 
works  in  different  countries.  I  want  to  get  the  idea  of 
private  property  as  the  main  and  only  basis  of  security 
out  of  people's  heads.  Anton  Menger  saw  the  fallacy  of 
the  common  juridical  conceptions  more  clearly  than  any 
one  else  I  have  ever  struck,  except  perhaps  Shaw.  The 
psychology  of  the  thing  also  wants  tackling  —  the  fallacy 
of  the  common  notion  of  "  independence."  But  I  must 
apologize  for  all  this  irrelevance.  You  are  probably  too 
busy  with  practical  things  to  bother  much  about  theory. 


7 

The  Fabian  Executive,  as  the  result  of  my  prodding, 
have  been  hammering  at  this  question.  I  am  trying  to 
get  them  to  issue  an  official  manifesto  on  the  question, 
but  I  don't  know  whether  they  will.  They  have  been  in 
communication  with  the  Labour  Party,  and  Pease  could 
tell  you  exactly  how  the  question  stands  now  if  you  in- 
quired. I  understood  that  the  Labour  Party  rather 
changed  its  mind  on  the  question,  but  then  found  the 
Government  and  the  Irish  quite  obdurate,  and  so  decided 
to  do  nothing.  But  if  the  Government  and  Irish  are 
united,  the  Labour  people  could  vote  against  the  Bill 
without  fear  of  defeating  the  Government.  I  think  it  is 
desirable  to  make  as  big  a  protest  as  possible,  even  if  there 
is  no  chance  of  getting  all  we  want,  (i)  because  if  the  Home 
Rule  Bill  doesn't  go  through  it  might  influence  the  form 
of  a  later  Bill  ;  (2)  because  it  might  influence  either  a 
Conservative  or  even  Liberal  Government  on  the  question 
of  making  its  next  big  Factory  Act  applicable  to  Ireland, 
even  if  (as  in  Germany)  the  Irish  officials  were  left  to 
administer  the  Federal  Act, 


108  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

NORTH-WESTERN  HOTEL,  NORTHAMPTON. 
1 8  January,  1912. 

I  was  rather  bored  at  the  prospect  of  having  to  come 
down  here,  but  it  has  been  very  interesting,  after  all.  I 
must  say  I  always  rather  rejoice  at  getting  out  of  reach 
of  the  Yorkshire  lingo.  This  is  not  my  own  country,  but 
the  manager  of  the  Exchange  here  is  an  East  Anglian,  and 
I  detected  my  native  twang  as  soon  as  I  met  him.  And, 
by  God  !  the  girls  here  in  the  streets  are  a  brighter  and 
better  dressed  lot  than  the  lasses  that  are  belched  out  of 
the  mills  of  Leeds  and  "  Oodersfield." 

I  rather  had  the  idea  that  too  many  people  were 
"  looking  after  "  these  Juvenile  Advisory  Committees,  but 
I  find  things  here  in  an  awful  muddle.  The  poor  devils 
have  never  been  given  any  ideas,  but  with  a  little  whetting 
they  quite  begin  to  thirst  for  them.  I  am  going  to  see 
various  people  here  to-day  to  try  to  stir  things  up.  The 
certifying  surgeon  is  the  Mayor,  and  is  ill  unto  the  point 
of  death,  so  unless  he  dies  or  recovers  rapidly  it  is  difficult 
to  shift  much  in  that  direction. 

I  went  to  the  local  "  Palace  "  last  night  and  was  by  no 
means  bored.  There  was  a  troupe  of  Chinese  acrobats, 
who  were  quite  amusing.  Only  I  always  have  a  feeling 
that  Johnson's  dictum  on  performing  dogs  applies  equally, 
or  perhaps  even  more,  to  performing  humans  of  that  kind. 
I  wondered  what  they  thought  of  Sun  Yat  Sen  and  the 
Republican  cause. 

A  very  comfortable  little  temperance  hotel  was  full, 
so  I  only  had  tea  there  and  slept  at  this  pub.  I  am  never 
really  at  ease  in  English  pubs.  There  is  a  glib  etiquette 
which  I  can  never  catch.  However,  I  drank  bitter  with 
a  commercial,  who  explained  to  me  the  way  to  get  non- 
excised  whisky  after  legal  hours  in  every  town  in  Scotland, 
and  boasted  of  smoking  smuggled  tobacco.  I  was  very 
affable,  but  the  sense  of  the  State  was  vaguely  aroused 
in  the  back  of  my  head.  Apparently  you  go  up  to  any 
constable  in  Inverness  or  Aberdeen  and  say,  "I'm  stranded." 
He  says,  "  What's  the  pass-word  ?  "  You  say,  "  I've  a 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  109 

friend  outside  "  (or  whatever  else  it  is  in  that  particular 
town).  He  says,  "  Twelve  paces  behind  me,"  and  takes 
you  to  a  private  house  where  you  get  a  tumbler  half  full 
of  neat  for  threepence.  Tobacco  is  passed  from  Dutch 
to  French  fishing-boats,  and  thence  to  English,  but  you 
cannot  get  it  in  the  Portsmouth  and  Plymouth  area  just 
now  as  the  new  lot  of  coastguards  have  not  been  corrupted. 
Obviously  it  was  mainly  the  fun  of  doing  the  State,  as  you 
might  do  a  customer,  which  delighted  this  man.  It  ought 
to  be  curable  in  the  next  generation  by  means  of  education. 

I  even  got  as  far  as  chucking  the  barmaid  under  the 
chin.  But  the  great  difficulty  about  barmaids  is  what 
to  talk  to  them  about.  Of  course  if  one  could  come  across 
one  of  the  Trade  Unionist  barmaids  in  London  it  would 
be  all  right,  but  I  cannot  get  the  sequence  of  smooth- 
greased  sentences  to  drop  out  which  is  necessary  with  the 
ordinary  barmaid.  I  always  think  of  what  would  have 
been  a  good  repartee  four  minutes  afterwards.  I  am  not 
so  bad  at  a  sort  of  sledge-hammer  repartee  with  my  friends, 
but  I  cannot  manage  barmaids. 

PS.— It  is  a  defect. 

To  the  Same 

ROUNDHAY,  LEEDS. 

31  January,  1912. 

I  think  you  are  grossly  unfair  in  saying  that  Webbites 
(a  beastly  word)  have  no  use  for  Morris.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  the  only  path  to  well-being  for  the  vast  mass 
of  the  population  is  along  the  lines  which  Webb  shows  us 
— whatever  may  be  the  case  for  little  aristocracies  and 
coteries  of  one  kind  or  another.  But  conviction  as  to  the 
practical  necessity  for  this  course  of  political  action  is 
neither  here  nor  there  in  regard  to  the  broad  humanism 
of  Morris,  which  is  open  to  all  who  believe  that  property 
is  dissoluble,  and  closed  to  all — whether  they  are  peers 
or  peasant  proprietors,  or  commercials,  or  upholders  of 
co-operative  production — who  accept  Property  and  the 
family  as  the  basis  of  things.  That  is  the  only  line  of  division 
that  really  matters  politically  or  sociologically,  and  how 
few  there  are  who  are  truly  on  our  side  of  it !  I  have  often 


110  KEELING  LETTERS 

been  struck  with  the  number  of  people  who  have  passed 
through  the  Fabian  Society.  Few  people  have  enough 
courage  to  be  Socialists  when  they  understand  Socialism. 
Most  of  the  avowed  upholders  of  Socialism  would  abandon  it 
if  they  understood  it,  while  a  true  understanding  would  like- 
wise bring  us  many  willing  recruits — of  whom,  by  the  way, 
in  reading  his  book,  I  feel  sure  that  Holmes  would  be  one. 


To  the  Same.  ON  TRAIN  T0  LEEDS 

25  March,  1912. 

By  God  !  I  have  enjoyed  this  trip  to  London.  I  feel 
younger  and  more  full  of  life,  more  human  this  morning 
than  I  have  ever  done  in  my  life.  I  always  revel  in  a 
long  railway  journey,  a  long  flying  glimpse  of  towns  and 
men,  fields  and  trees  that  makes  me  feel 

Mein  Acker,  mein  Acker, 
Wie  herrlich  weit  und  breit ! 
Die  Welt  sic  1st  mein  Acker, 
Mein  Acker  ist  die  Zeit. 

There  are  few  happier  men  on  God's  earth  than  I  this 
morning.  I  enjoyed  seeing  R.  immensely.  She  is  splendid 
with  that  little  beast.  She  has  agreed  to  register  him  as 
Bernard  Sidney.  After  all,  there  is  no  reason  why  he 
should  not  be  called  after  the  two  greatest  men  on  the 
earth.  I  think  he  will  be  as  ugly  as  his  father,  but  he 
seems  pretty  tough,  and  he  has  a  finely  shaped  head  ; 
I  don't  know  if  there's  aught  in  that.  .  .  . 

I  am  full  of  Walt  Whitman  just  now.  I  have  not  read 
him  for  a  year  or  two,  but  I  am  going  back  to  take  a 
draught  at  that  most  glorious  spring. 

W.  won't  stick  in  the  City  long.  He  will  perhaps  come 
lumbering  with  me  next  spring.  How  I  look  forward  to 
that  !  Rough,  even  sordid  hardships,  but  a  delving  at 
the  roots  of  things. 

Oh,  the  joy  of  a  manly  selfhood ! 

I  have  been  thinking  of  Matthew  Arnold's  poem.  I  forget 
what  it  is  called.  I  think  its  theme  is  introduced  by  a 
young  wanderer  at  Circe's  shrine,  where  he  describes  how 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  111 

it  is  the  poet's  tragedy  and  triumph  to  suffer  with  all  men. 
Perhaps  the  artist  does  really  do  that.  I  don't  know. 
Sometimes  shadows  seem  as  good  a  basis  for  emotion  as 
realities.  But,  anyhow,  I  must  feel  the  earth  with  my 
own  hands,  feel  the  sweat  actually  flow,  see  the  problem 
with  my  own  eye,  talk  face  to  face  with  the  toilers  before 
I  can  get  the  impulse  of  aspiration  and  active  driving 
genuinely,  irresistibly.  I  believe  it  is  so  with  most  men  if 
they  knew  it.  I  would  make  the  highest  official  share 
the  work  of  the  meanest  clerk  or  executive  officer  from  time 
to  time.  How  easy  it  is  to  lose  touch  with  reality  !  The 
problem  of  keeping  it  is  mainly  one  of  human  education, 
but  it  can  also  be  solved  partially  by  contrivance.  Make 
the  chiefs  spend  a  fortnight  each  year  in  carrying  out 
their  own  orders.  But  men  fear  the  Comic  Spirit  too  much 
for  that  at  present.  Yet  in  reality  she  can  be  our  saviour. 
It  is  not  yet  regarded  as  cowardice  to  fear  her,  yet  some 
day,  when  the  baser  forms  of  cowardice  are  extinct,  it  will 
become  the  normal  form  of  cowardice  to  fear  to  plunge 
into  the  icy  pool  before  her  shrine.  Yet  now  to  do  so,  to 
approach  her  readily,  to  seek  her  converse  and  inspiration 
is  often  taken  for  a  barbaric  whim.  What  fools  these 
mortals  be  ! 

Perhaps,  after  all,  the  plutocrats  and  Gog  Magogs  will 
be  laughed  away,  not  hung  (though  hate  is  too  strong  in 
me  to  enable  me  ever  to  cease  from  willingness  to  hang 
them).  ...  I  am  just  passing  a  new  line  which  is  being 
made.  I  do  want  to  heave  a  few  barrow-loads  of  dirt  out 
of  a  railway  cutting.  I  wish  I  could  swing  a  beetle  like 
those  chaps  you  see  breaking  up  an  asphalte  roadway : 
three  men  in  succession  strike  an  iron  wedge  which  a  fourth 
holds  up — chink,  chink,  chink. 

Life  is  a  game.  If  you  lose  the  sense  of  adventure  in 
it,  the  attitude  of  readiness  for  adventure,  the  sense  of 
the  fun  of  sitting  on  a  large  orange  springing  through 
space,  you  have  lost  the  most  precious  thing. 

But  this  is  not  the  proper  mood  to  go  back  to  work  in. 
I  shall  do  something  dangerous,  tweak  the  nose  of  some 
Leeds  plutocrat  and  expound  communism  to  him.  I 
must  cool  down. 


112  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  the  Same. 

DONCASTER  STATION. 

i  April,  1912. 

Have  run  down  here  this  afternoon  to  see  my  divisional 
officer.  It  has  been  a  pleasant  windy,  sunny  afternoon. 

I  had  time  to  look  over  the  huge  new  offices  which  they 
have  established  for  the  insurance  work,  and  also  to  stroll 
round  the  church,  owing  to  a  return  train  to  Leeds  being  off. 

What  I  have  seen  with  regard  to  the  nature  and  growth 
of  official  machinery  gives  me  furiously  to  think.  Not  that 
I  am  becoming  anti-collectivist  hi  any  way,  or  that  I  am 
up  against  officialism  in  general.  I  was  merely  irritated 
over  an  incident  when  I  saw  you  last.  Only  I  feel  it  is 
necessary  to  realize  the  more  or  less  inevitable  actual 
psychology  of  the  whole  j&natter  and  devise  means  of 
guarding  against  its  disadvantages. 

I  hear  that  S.,  having  to  leport  upon  the  desirability 
of  "  establishing  "  or  promoting  the  two  hundred  officials 
in  his  division,  took  home  two  hundred  forms  and  scribbled 
remarks  on  each  of  them  in  a  couple  of  hours  on  a  Sunday 
afternoon  absolutely  casually.  Now  here  is  a  man  of 
average  kind-heartedness  who  is  absolutely  devoid  of  any 
sort  of  social  or  civic  sense  of  justice,  and  who  is  incapable 
of  realizing  that  £10  per  annum  with  a  salary  of  £60  or 
£70  may  mean  all  the  difference  between  tolerable  happi- 
ness and  soul-damning  penury,  and  also  absolutely  devoid 
of  any  qualms  of  conscience  in  respect  of  the  waste  of 
public  money  by  appointing  or  retaining  or  promoting 
people  who  are  not  only  useless  but  a  positive  hindrance 
to  and  drag  on  the  service.  Now,  some  of  this  is  a  matter 
of  intelligence,  or  the  lack  of  it.  But  some  of  it  is  due 
to  the  atrophy  or  lack  of  the  development  of  certain  aspects 
of  the  moral  or  aesthetic  feeling.  It  is  obvious  that  this 
last  is  remediable  through  education,  whatever  may  be 
the  case  with  regard  to  intelligence.  The  Public  Schools 
do  develop  a  certain  kind  of  sense  of  honour,  which,  on 
the  whole,  I  consider  thoroughly  bad  in  relation  to  modern 
life  in  modern  England,  whatever  may  have  been  its  merits 
in  India  or  Africa  lifty  or  twenty  years  ago.  McKillop 
thinks  Graham  Wallas  may  do  great  things  in  regard  to 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  118 

the  psychology  of  officialism  on  the  Civil  Service  Commission. 
Perhaps  he  will. 

I  didn't  feel  at  all  angry  with  things  this  afternoon. 
I  was  in  one  of  those  rare  moods  of  illumination,  or  at 
least  I  think  I  was,  and  coming  away  from  the  church  I 
had  a  few  moments  of  the  sense  of  the  vanity  of  things 
(which  is  not  the  same  as  a  feeling  of  the  desperate  futility 
of  things),  and  thought  of  Spenser's  lines  :— 

Which  makes  me  loathe  this  state  of  things  so  tickle,     (A   lovely 

word  "  tickle  !  ") 

And  love  of  things  so  vain  to  cast  away, 
Whose  flowering  pride,  so  fading  and  so  fickle. 
Short  Time  shall  soon  cut  down  with  his  consuming  sickle. 

Then  'gin  I  think  of  that  which  Nature  sayed 
Of  that  same  Time  when  no  more  change  shall  be 

But  steadfast  rest  of  all  things,  firmly  stayed 
Upon  the  pillars  of  eternitie 
That  is  contraire  to  mutabilitie, 
For  all  that  moveth  doth  in  change  delight.1 

Doncaster  is,  of  course,  a  very  different  place  from  the 
North-West  Riding  towns.  You  get  the  Lincolnshire 
curved  red  tiles  (are  not  they  called  "pantiles"  ?).  They 
say  it  is  going  to  have  a  population  of  200,000  in  a  few 
years,  as  the  new  coalfield  develops.  Some  steps  are  being 
taken  with  regard  to  town-planning.  .  .  . 

By  God !  England  is  a  fine  place,  and  I  believe  I  enjoy 
the  spring  more  and  more  every  year.  Even  this  flat 
colliery-ridden  district  between  Leeds  and  Doncaster  is 
beautiful  to-day. 

Italy  will  be  wonderful.  How  I  envy  you  the  journey  ! 
But  I  suppose  you  won't  go  by  the  Rhine  and  Gotthard 
that  I  love  so  much. 

To  the  Same. 

LEEDS.     9  April,  1912. 

I  have  only  time  for  a  short  note  to-night.  I  have  had 
an  enormous  clear-out  of  letters  and  papers  to-day.  I 
have  chucked  lots  of  stuff  into  a  pile  to  be  sent  to  the 

1  "Faerie  Queene,"  VIII,  1-2;  "things"  in  first  line  should  be 
"life." 

9 


114  KEELING  LETTERS 

School  of  Economics  library,  have  sorted  masses  of  papers 
and  pamphlet  boxes,  and  sat  down  to  work  through  a 
pile  of  arrears  of  letters,  determined  to  clear  it  off  and 
avoid  arrears  in  future. 

The  gale  continues  here,  but  there  has  been  bright  sun- 
shine nearly  all  day.  I  walked  round  the  top  of  the  park 
before  I  had  breakfast,  and  again  this  evening.  The  top 
of  the  park  has  become  to  me  like  the  Backs  at  Cambridge, 
a  regular  place  to  go  to  for  peace  and  reflection  and  general 
enjoyment  of  things.  I  felt  rather  lonely  and  despondent 
for  an  hour  this  evening,  but  I  set  to  work  to  put  a  lot  of 
sunflower  seeds  in  my  garden,  and  forgot  all  about  it.  But 
I  wonder  now  and  again  whether  I  do  chuck  away  half 
or  three-quarters  of  the  best  things  in  life.  I  feel  such 
a  lot  of  my  energy  runs  to  waste,  and  I  cut  myself  off  from 
such  a  lot  of  good  things.  And  yet  I  suppose  it  is  good 
for  each  generation  to  have  a  few  maniacs  like  me  who 
insist  on  trying  experiments  in  life  in  one  way  or  another. 
On  the  whole  I  make  a  fairly  good  business  of  it  as  com- 
pared with  most  men.  McKillop  was  struck  with  my 
domestic  arrangements,  and  said  that  I  had  all  the  really 
essential  things  for  comfort.  So  I  have.  I  have  never 
enjoyed  my  physical  surroundings  in  all  my  life  more  than 
I  have  my  house  up  here.  Cambridge  was  too  luxurious, 
in  spite  of  sporadic  sleepings  out.  It  is  good  for  a  man 
— a  male  particularly — to  realize  now  and  again  the  nuis- 
ance he  is  to  the  rest  of  mankind,  by  doing  his  own  dirty 
work.  I  admit  I  don't  like  it  permanently.  I  have  looked 
after  myself  and  washed  up  and  kept  the  place  fairly 
clean  this  holiday,  while  my  handmaid  is  away.  But, 
of  course,  A.  really  does  the  thing  much  more  honestly, 
in  helping  to  look  after  his  kids  and  in  doing  odd  bits  of 
housework.  Honestly,  I  do  occasionally  want  Rachel  and 
the  kids  very  badly.  But  I  know  that  I  simply  cannot 
work  most  of  my  moods  into  the  necessary  conditions  of 
existence  with  a  wife  and  children.  You  can't  ignore 
them  when  you  feel  inclined,  and  I,  at  any  rate,  have 
never  been  able  to  accept  them  as  part  of  my  normal  self. 
I  suppose  that  is  the  trouble  really.  Ideas,  conceptions, 
intellectualisms  do  largely  determine  the  direction  that 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  115 

is  given  to  human  feeling.  Once  get  a  man  by  unconscious 
acceptance  of  tradition,  or  by  intellectual  effort,  or  by 
chance  knocking  up  against  an  idea  and  being  fired  by  it, 
to  take  a  certain  standpoint  as  his  normal  standpoint,  to 
twist  the  stuff  of  his  life  in  a  certain  way,  and  he  will  fight 
for  that  particular  modus  vivendi,  habit  of  thought,  like  hell. 
I  have  been  unwillingly  forced  to  see  the  parallel  between 
my  family  life  these  last  two  or  three  years  and  my 
home  life  as  a  boy.  There  is  no  getting  away  from  the 
fact  that  the  same  motives  are  at  work.  I  see  myself 
doing  exactly  the  same  sort  of  things  as  I  did  ten  or  fifteen 
years  ago  with  the  same  sort  of  perverseness  or  burst  of 
wildness,  inexplicable  to  myself,  often  a  sudden  sort  of 
internal  snarl.  I  used  to  feel  as  a  boy  that  another  woman 
than  my  mother  might  have  helped  me  to  get  over  that 
kind  of  mad,  savage  perversity,  or  at  least  have  brought 
it  within  bounds.  But  now  I  think  it  is  more  or  less 
fixed,  and  I  must  order  my  life  in  such  a  way  that  that 
sort  of  feeling  is  not  occasioned. 

To  the  Same. 

LEEDS,     u  April,  1912. 

I  had  a  delightful  surprise  when  I  returned  to  work  on 
Wednesday.  A  large  parcel  of  books  arrived  from  a  shop — 
Morley's  "  Rousseau,"  "  Voltaire,"  and  "  Diderot."  They 
were  a  gift  from  McKillop  and  Gordon,  really  far  more 
valuable  than  my  rough  hospitality.  I  have  read  most 
of  the  "  Rousseau  "  in  the  last  two  days.  What  a  man  ! 
He  fascinates  me  more  and  more,  though  I  have  just 
received  rather  a  setback  in  discovering  his  idealization 
of  the  respectable  family  in  "  The  New  Heloise."  Yet 
it  is  really  all  of  a  piece  with  him.  Morley's  comments 
and  point  of  view  are  also  most  interesting.  I  often  differ 
from  them.  I  did  not  realize  that  he  was  such  an  old 
Puritan  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word — not  the  deeper 
sense  which  Shaw  adopts,  and  which  I  generally  have  in 
mind  when  I  use  the  word. 

I  have  always  had,  and  have,  a  great  admiration  for 
John  Morley.  His  style  is  glorious  and  a  real  katharsis 
to  a  vaporous-brained  hermit-bureaucrat  like  myself. 


116  KEELING  LETTERS 

Well,  I  find  it  hard  to  turn  from  Rousseau  and  Morley 
to  the  details  of  my  work.  I  have  had  a  sort  of  upheaval 
in  the  last  six  weeks,  I  think.  Is  it  the  spring  merely  ? 
I  believe  I  am  getting  more  sensitive  to  the  seasons. 

I  am  determined  not  to  waste  myself  by  rolling  from 
one  bit  of  uncompleted  work  to  another,  though  I  don't 
see  how  a  nature  like  mine  can  learn  except  by  experiment. 
I  am  more  than  ever  set  on  America  and  farm-labouring, 
navvying,  anything.  It  would  be  still  more  fun  if  K. 
really  would  come  too.  We  should  be  a  rum  pair.  I 
think  there  must  be  some  people,  even  in  America,  who 
would  give  us  a  bit  of  a  job  partly  for  our  whimsicality. 

I  should  very  much  like  to  hear  Rousseau's  music. 
Morley  (who  acknowledges  assistance  in  that  chapter  from 
a  musician)  says  that  Rousseau  was  an  extreme  reaction 
against  the  hyper-elaborate  Rameau  and  Lulli,  the  move- 
ment which  led  to  "  the  austere  loveliness  of  Gluck."  I 
like  the  phrase  "  austere  loveliness,"  as  applied  to  Gluck's 
"  Orpheus,"  which  I  heard  in  Leeds  a  few  weeks  ago.  It 
fascinated  me,  and  as  I  read  that  chapter  of  Morley's  an 
hour  ago,  I  could  hear  the  cry  "  Eurydice,  Eurydice  !  " 
again  and  again.  The  piece  was  beautifully  staged,  too, 
by  the  Denhof  company.  The  dance  of  the  unhappy 
spiirts  when  Orpheus  lands  was  wonderfully  done ;  the 
white  arms  rising  up  against  the  blue-black  prone  figures 
and  the  lithe  wrestling  and  intertwining  of  bodies  will 
always  remain  in  my  memory.  Eurydice,  in  the  company 
of  the  happy  spirits  before  Orpheus  comes,  made  me  think 
of  the  end  of  Shelley's  "  Prometheus  Unbound."  In  fact, 
is  there  not  a  similarity  in  spirit  between  the  two  dramas 
all  through  ?  Perhaps  the  Greek  origin  of  both  the  legends 
has  something  to  do  with  it.  It  is  also,  I  think,  not  an 
accident  that  a  woman  takes  the  part  of  Orpheus  in 
Gluck's  opera.  Though  sex-love  is  its  theme,  it  is  a  sex- 
love  which  is  so  transcendental  as  to  have  almost  lost  its 
original  sex  character.  Both  the  "  Prometheus  Unbound  " 
and  "  Orpheus "  represent  idealized  humanism,  neither 
male  nor  female,  but  leaning  if  anything  to  the  female 
element  in  man  (homo),  the  ewig-weiblige  which  draws 
even  man  (vir),  not  as  its  complement,  but  as  like  to  like. 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  117 

But  I  am  probably  talking  damned  drivel,  as  I  know 
nothing  about  poetry,  less  about  drama,  less  still  about 
music,  and  little  enough  about  love. 

•  •  •  •  • 

I  hope  you  are  very  happy  in  Corsica.  There  have 
been  horribly  cold  winds  here  for  a  week,  and  I  am  not 
in  the  mood  for  cold  winds. 

I  very  much  want  to  see  Bernard  Sidney  (I  love  writing 
those  names)  and  R—  -  again,  but  I  don't  think  I  can 
get  down  just  now. 

I  am  in  a  queer  mood  which  is  not  worth  £200  a  year 
to  the  Government. 

My  Shop  Hours  Act  prosecution  comes  on  to-morrow, 
but  I  shan't  be  able  to  be  in  the  court.  I  have  whipped 
up  the  Press.  I  hope  this  ruffian  gets  properly  and  heavily 
fined,  and  well  damned  in  the  papers.  I  have  put  Y.  up 
to  ask  McKenna  for  a  return  of  all  prosecutions  by  local 
authorities  under  the  Shops  and  Employment  of  Children 
Acts  in  the  last  three  years.  The  Home  Office  probably 
can't  give  it,  but  then  it  will  show  them  up,  and  press 
home  the  logic  of  a  grant-in-aid  for  local  authorities' 
work  in  industrial  regulation.  Anyhow,  it  is  rather  a 
wheeze. 

To  the  Same. 

LEEDS.     20  April,  1912. 

The  weather  has  been  glorious  here  to-day.  I  have 
not  lived  in  the  country  in  the  spring  ever  since  I  left 
Cambridge,  and  I  am  enjoying  the  experience  intensely. 
I  think  I  shall  sleep  out  to-night.  I  have  idled  most  of 
this  afternoon,  done  a  little  in  my  garden,  and  read  a 
hundred  pages  of  Morley's  "  Voltaire." 

The  seeds  I  sowed  in  March  are  just  beginning  to  come 
up,  except  the  sunflowers.  I  am  rather  anxious  about 
them.  I  want  to  have  a  great  forest  of  them  round  my 
windows.  This  place  is  infested  with  pet  dogs  and  cats 
which  irritate  me.  The  dogs  yap  at  my  bare  calves 
when  I  run  in  the  morning,  and  flee  when  I  endeavour 
to  kick  them  in  the  jaw.  All  the  humanitarianism  in  the 


118  KEELING  LETTERS 

world  will  not  prevent  me  from  slinging  stones  at  infernal, 
damned,  and  pestiferous  cats  which  root  up  my  seeds 
just  when  they  are  sprouting,  curse  them.  The  cats  know 
no  better.  ...  I  don't  care.  There  are  moments  when 
a  man  is  desperate.  One  particularly  damned  young 
black  cat,  however,  incensed  me  beyond  measure,  as  it 
thought  I  was  throwing  stones  as  a  game  (I  couldn't  hit 
it,  though  I  tried),  and  ran  after  them,  gambolling  inso- 
lently. Such  treatment  of  a  member  of  the  human  race 
is  intolerable.  It  reminds  me  of  a  story  which  Williams 
told  me  of  a  deputation  of  Manchester  unemployed  to  the 
Distress  Committee.  The  formal  proceedings  went  on  in 
the  usual  way.  The  worthy  alderman  and  the  co-opted 
ecclesiastical  dignitary  expressed  the  deepest  sympathy 
with  the  poor  fellows  on  the  register.  As  the  deputation 
was  about  to  retire,  however,  a  navvy  with  some  dim 
sense  of  humour,  which  had  doubtless  saved  him  from  a 
successful  career,  stepped  forward  and  apostrophized  the 
committee  in  true  "  navvyeze,"  addressing  them  each 

in  turn.     "  As  for  that  old  lugger  there,  with  the  b 

belly,   what   b good   is  he  ?  "     The  scene  was  most 

painful,  and  it  was  some  minutes  before  the  attendants 
could  remove  the  offender.  I  believe  the  report  in  the 
Guardian  was  curtailed. 

I  have  just  bought  the  second  volume  of  Rousseau's 
"  Confessions."  I  only  got  the  first  in  Verona,  and 
never  went  on  to  the  second.  The  contrast  between 
Rousseau  and  Voltaire  is  most  fascinating.  In  a  way  it 
belongs  to  all  time.  I  mean  it  is  symbolical.  There  was 
an  extraordinarily  Voltairian  atmosphere  at  Cambridge  in 
a  certain  set  in  my  time.  McTaggart,  Antony  Be  van 
(who  knows  all  the  scandalous  stories  about  the  ear\y 
Christians),  J.  T.  Sheppard,  Norton,  Whitehead,  were  all 
Voltairians.  The  Fabians  (though  we  could  not  boast  of 
men  of  the  intellectual  calibre  of  any  of  these)  were  a  sort 
of  Rousseauite  outburst  in  Cambridge,  though  some  of 
them,  like  Dalton,  were  still  to  a  large  extent  tarred  with 
Voltairism.  Still,  broadly  speaking,  that  was  our  signifi- 
cance, strangely  different  from  the  significance  of  the 
Fabian  Society  in  London. 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  119 

Oxford  people  cannot  understand  the  "  Ecrascz  I'infame" 
spirit  of  Cambridge  atheists.  I  have  never  found  the 
spirit  of  really  bitter  anti-clericalism  so  strong  in  any 
other  section  of  English  thought  as  in  Cambridge.  .  .  . 

I  must  say — you  probably  will  not  agree — I  think  there 
is  room  and  need  for  a  definite  anti-clerical  element  in 
society  to-day,  a  definite  set  of  people  who  attack  and  ex- 
pose the  cramping  and  degrading  influence  which  orthodox 
theological  religion  can  have  on  human  character.  Such 
an  influence  definitely  does  make  life  poorer,  definitely 
does  hinder  individual  people  from  facing  the  facts  of  life 
armed  with  their  own  inner  resources. 

I  saw  the  psychology  of  religion  of  this  kind  at  work 
at  close  quarters  in  my  boyhood,  and  it  was  a  pretty  ugly 
business.  It  is  not  far  removed  from  literal  savage  fetichism. 
The  High  Church  notion  of  symbolism  may  be  all  right, 
or  relatively  harmless  for  men  of  fairly  strong  intellect,  or 
for  simple  peasants.  I  don't  know  about  the  latter.  But 
it  causes  nothing  less  than  pernicious  degradation  in  half- 
educated  women  living  in  the  material  complexity  of 
modern  society,  and  suffering  from  the  absence  of  bracing 
realities,  even  of  so  commonplace  a  kind  as  those  which 
an  ordinary  business  man  gets  in  his  work. 

By  God !  if  the  Suffrage  movement  were  only  out 
against  that  sort  of  state  of  life  for  women  it  would  justify 
itself. 

It  is  true  that  it  is  only  the  middle-  and  upper-class 
women  who  suffer  in  that  particular  way.  Still,  they  are 
a  large  class,  and  potentially  more  important  in  the  imme- 
diate present  than  working-class  women  as  regards  the 
influence  they  can  exercise  on  history. 

I  send  you  the  Nation.  The  article  on  Meredith  is 
interesting.  "  Evan  Harrington  "  is  the  only  one  of  Mere- 
dith's novels  which  bored  me.  The  fantastic  apotheosis  of 
the  sentiment  of  snobbery  seemed  to  me  too  trivial  a  theme  ; 
it  simply  did  not  interest  me.  But  if  this  article  is  correct, 
it  meant  an  enormous  deal  to  Meredith,  and  I  shall  certainly 
tackle  the  book  again. 


120  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  the  Same. 

LEEDS.     2  June,  1912. 

I  have  been  extraordinarily  happy  for  the  last  year 
in  spite  of  what  would,  I  suppose,  be  fairly  big  disappoint- 
ments to  some  men  in  my  official  career.  In  fact,  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  have  ever  been  happier  in  any  year  of  my 
life.  I  think  I  have  done  a  little  useful  work — not  much, 
but  a  little  ;  I  have  found  out  a  good  deal  more  about 
what  I  can  and  want  to  do  ;  and  I  have  had  you  to  be 
with,  think  of,  and  write  to.  I  certainly  ask  for  no  more 
happiness  in  life  than  I  have  had  for  the  last  year.  I 
do  desire  a  consciousness  of  a  larger  output  of  useful  work 
and  continuously  purposeful  effort.  If  I  can  learn  more 
per  annum  than  I  have  learnt  in  the  last  year  I  shall  be 
pleased.  But  I  feel  I  have  not  done  badly  as  regards 
real  growth.  I  suppose  most  other  people  feel  the  same — 
but  it  is  always  a  very  strange  thing  to  me  to  contemplate 
the  "  me  "  of  a  year,  two  years,  or  three  years  ago,  and 
wonder  at  the  crude  lack  of  comprehension  in  this  or  that 
episode. 

I  am  right  glad  to  have  fired  that  resignation  in. 
Almost  every  one  whom  I  consulted,  hoping  to  get  useful 
advice,  advised  me  not  to  resign,  with  an  obvious  inca- 
pacity to  understand  the  situation.  Miss  Hutchins  is  an 
exception.  I  disagree  with  her  sometimes,  but  on  the 
whole  I  think  her  one  of  the  sanest  and  most  intelligent 
people  I  know. 

I  don't  think  any  one  who  knows  my  inner  mind  could 
call  me  an  anti-feminist.  I  think  the  proportion  of  women 
amongst  the  people  whose  friendship  or  intelligence  I 
really  value  highly  grows  year  by  year. 

I  wonder  who  that  woman  Rebecca  West  in  the  Free- 
woman  is.  She  interests  me  immensely,  though  I  picture 
her  as  rather  overdressed  and  fastidious.  .  .  . 

I  have  this  house  on  my  hands  till  November.  I  perceive 
that  my  future  is  very  incalculable  for  some  years.  I 
want  a  small  cottage  in  the  country,  within  fifty  or  sixty 
miles  of  London,  with  about  four  rooms,  as  a  permanent 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  121 

pied-d-terre  for  my  possessions — of  which  I  am  going  to 
sell  a  lot  before  I  leave  here,  but  of  which  I  think  I  cannot 
absolutely  get  rid.  Papers  will  be  the  most  important— 
I  am  going  to  adopt  Sam  Butler's  ideas  about  books,  and 
have  done  with  them  for  the  most  part  as  possessions. 
Beds  don't  much  matter.  Two  tables,  and  drawers  and 
cases  for  papers  are  really  the  main  thing.  But  if  you 
hear  of  a  cottage  somewhere  or  other  you  might  let  me 
know — preferably  near  (i)  pines,  (2)  sea  or  bathing 
water — and  anyhow  in  tolerable  walking  country.  I  don't 
mind  buying  it  outright — a  (crf^a  tc  «*«'•  The  more 
detached  from  neighbours  the  better.  Anything  up  to 
three  miles  from  a  station.  It  is  primarily  for  myself 
as  a  solitary  occasional  dwelling,  so  a  place  which  would 
not  suit  a  lot  of  people  would  do. 

The  pleasure  of  having  a  solitary  dwelling-place  has 
been  so  great  that  I  don't  think  I  will  ever  give  it  up  now, 
though  I  don't  mind  living  a  good  deal  with  other  people. 
But  the  peace  of  a  week-end  like  this  ! 

This  is  a  very  egotistical  letter.  I  agree  on  the  whole 
with  what  you  say  about  Morris,  though  perhaps  I  value 
leisure  higher  than  you  do.  If  I  look  back  over  my  life 
in  a  flash  I  group  it  in  four  things :  (i)  an  ugly,  hateful 
muddle  up  to  nineteen,  which  is  nothing  but  a  struggling 
in  the  womb  of  chcumstance — in  darkness  ;  since  then, 
(2)  work  and  thought ;  (3)  rest  and  recreation — chiefly 
alone  in  the  open  air ;  (4)  human  relationships.  Culture 
as  such — enjoyment  of  books,  music,  etc. — only  comes  a 
bad  fifth ;  but  I  do  not  think  it  really  exists  apart  from 
the  others  at  all.  But,  broadly  speaking,  I  cannot  dis- 
tinguish between  work  and  play.  It  is  all  serious,  even 
when  it  is  ridiculous. 

I  like  that  Wilde  memorial.  I  will  try  to  go  and  see 
it  when  I  am  in  London. 

I  have  been  getting  in  some  odd  little  digs  at  the  official 
machine  lately.  I  have  really  begun  to  laugh  at  it  occa- 
sionally. Some  of  these  people  in  London  are  simply  too 
comic  for  words.  When  one  sees  them  in  that  light  it  is 
surely  time  to  have  done  with  them  ! 


122  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  the  Same. 

LEEDS.     6  June,  1912. 

I  always  find  myself  in  agreement  with  your  social 
ideas — and,  indeed,  they  generally  enlighten  me  a  great 
deal — in  so  far  as  they  are  statements  of  general,  and  in 
a  sense  eternal,  truths  about  human  nature  in  relation 
to  society.  But  I  think  your  extraordinary  power  of  always 
seeing  life,  or  rather  individual  human  lives,  as  a  whole 
amounts  sometimes  to  a  deliberate  refusal  to  examine 
certain  aspects  of  the  lives  of  large  numbers  of  individuals 
regarded  as  a  single  problem  in  a  detached  manner.  (If 
this  cannot  be  done,  we  had  better  shut  up  our  books  and 
say  that  sociology  does  not  exist.)  Your  attitude,  in  my 
opinion,  leads  you  hopelessly  wrong  over  questions  like 
the  old  Labour  Party's  Unemployed  Workmen  Bill,  appren- 
ticeship, and  Syndicalism.  I  am  mainly  conceined  with 
dealing  with  aspects  of  life  which  for  practical  purposes 
have  to  be  treated  as  a  detached  problem,  though,  of 
course,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  detached  human  problem 
really.  I  will  admit  a  thousand  times  over  that  the 
sociologists  like  myself  are  constantly  forgetting  that  their 
whole  superstructure  rests  on  an  arbitrary  hypothesis  of 
detachment,  and  needs  to  be  brought  back  to  life  as  a  whole. 
But  we  must  isolate  the  problems  temporarily  to  do  any- 
thing with  them — as  practical  constructive  men.  And 
therefore  the  bringing  us  back  to  life  as  a  whole,  though 
very  good  for  us,  is  apt  to  be  irritating.  It  is  a  constant 
reminder  of  our  limitations — a  preaching  to  the  labouring 
ants  of  the  glories  of  the  forest.  Your  talk  about  Syndi- 
calism is  unadulterated  nonsense  to  me  as  a  sociologist 
—thinking  in  a  flash  of  a  cotton-spinning  mill,  and  a  dozen 
workmen  whom  I  know,  and  estimating  the  amount  of 
actual  thought,  or  even  semi-demi-conscious  sentiment, 
there  is  in  these  strike  movements  (which  we  know,  as 
surely  as  that  two  and  two  make  four,  would  never  have 
arisen  just  now  and  in  this  way  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
gold-mines  and  the  improvements  in  the  banking  system). 
It  is  no  use  your  telling  me  life  can't  be  divided  into 
compartments.  I  don't  think  it  is  for  you.  But  I  know  I 
am  to  all  intents  and  purposes  a  different  person  at  different 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  123 

times — and  I  deliberately  feel  and  act  differently  in  dif- 
ferent environments  and  situations.  Whether  I  shall  ever 
feel  the  need  for  a  sort  of  unity  of  moods,  which  perhaps 
is,  as  you  say,  the  most  important  conception  of  religion, 
I  don't  know.  At  present  I  am  too  much  interested  in 
playing  and  trying  this  and  that  aspect  of  things.  (You 
see  this,  as  we  remarked  the  other  day,  much  more  clearly 
and  emphatically  developed  in  A.,  who  hasn't  even  yet 
made  up  her  mind  which  of  her  selves  she  is  going  to  be. 
I  am  not  as  much  of  a  kaleidoscope  as  she  is,  because  I 
am  a  smaller  person — but  it  is  the  same  sort  of  thing.) 

As  to  Syndicalism,  Graham  Wallas's  Fabian  Lecture  is 
just  about  right,  though  it  isn't  very  exciting.  E.'s  is 
an  instance  of  a  man  being  unable  to  pierce  to  the  spirit 
of  a  prophet's  words.  His  criticism  of  Shaw  is  about  the 
most  unnecessary  and  silly  thing  I  have  known  him  do. 
Shaw's  conception  and  preaching  of  economic  equality 
is  a  most  valuable  thing — though  it  may  be  casting  pearls 
before  swine  to  try  to  get  people  to  see  what  it  means 
now.  The  only  things  which  helped  me  to  understand 
it  were  a  passage  in  Morris's  pamphlet  on  Communism 
and  one  or  two  passages  in  Wells's  "  Modern  Utopia  " 
(though  Wells  would  probably  disclaim  association  with 
Shaw  on  this  subject  intellectually). 

To  the  Same. 

LEEDS.     23  June,   1912. 

I  have  been  having  a  gloriously  peaceful  solitary  week-end. 
I  worked  hard  at  my  lecture  most  of  last  week.  I  feel 
it  would  be  a  great  thing  to  try  and  drive  home  to  people's 
minds  what  all  these  detailed  regulations  mean  to  millions 
of  people.  You  people  who  feel  so  keenly  the  personal 
factor  in  sociology  will,  of  course,  never  appreciate  the 
relatively  unexciting  conception  and  evolution  of  common 
rules,  in  the  working  out  of  which  you  are  compelled  for 
a  large  part  of  the  time  to  regard  men  impersonally  in  the 
mass.  Of  course,  you  implicitly  deny  the  whole  concep- 
tion of  sociology  as  a  science.  But  I  think  that  it  is 
possible  to  develop  one's  instinct  and  intelligence  simul- 
taneously in  the  direction  of  an  appreciation  both  of  the 


124  KEELING  LETTERS 

personal  problems  of  life  and  of  the  nature  of  society  as 
a  whole.  At  any  rate,  I  am  going  to  try — though  I  may 
fall  between  two  stools. 

You  can  do  damned  little  that  is  much  use  in  solving 
social  questions  now  by  divination  and  inspiration  alone. 
The  number  of  conceptions  and  combinations  of  them 
which  you  can  play  with  is  limited,  and  all  the  general 
ideas  have  been  stated  in  one  way  or  another.  Equally 
true  is  it  that  mere  conscientious  compilation  without 
inspiration  won't  help  much.  But  there  is  relatively  a 
good  deal  less  of  the  latter  method.  It  is  more  trouble 
and  less  exciting. 

I  had  a  glorious  hour  in  the  park  last  night  before  I 
went  to  bed  for  ten  hours'  solid  and  blessed  sleep.  The 
fields  and  sky  are  so  beautiful  that  I  pine  for  the  greener 
green  and  bluer  blue  of  the  Alps.  And  I  would  give  a 
good  deal  for  a  fairly  long  spell  of  a  foreign  atmosphere 
and  a  foreign  language.  I  have  been  pretty  thoroughly 
absorbed  in  the  heart  of  England  in  the  last  three  years, 
and  though  I  suppose  I  am  as  English  as  ever  a  man  was 
— in  my  abnormalities  as  well  as  my  normalities — I  can 
appreciate  getting  out  of  my  own  country  pretty  thoroughly. 

I  read  about  your  Italian  glassworkers,  but  I  felt  as 
Mrs.  Webb  said  about  the  same  thing — that  I  should  like 
to  see  it  before  I  expressed  an  opinion  on  it,  especially  as 
it  is  Italian — and  one  knows  what  a  farce  their  social 
legislation  and  experiments  of  most  kinds  are  ;  I  mean 
how  different  they  are  in  reality  from  paper  accounts — 
e.g.  Municipal  Trading  and  Factory  Acts. 

To  the  Same. 

LEEDS.     6  July,  1912. 

I  hope  to  get  on  to  my  certifying  surgeon's  book  again 
this  week-end.  I  have  had  so  many  things  to  take  me 
away  from  it  lately.  I  had  begun  to  wonder  whether 
it  was  really  worth  publishing  by  itself,  and  whether  I 
should  not  incorporate  the  stuff  in  my  magnum  opus  on 
the  history  of  Industrial  Regulation — the  "  History  of 
Industrial  Freedom  "  I  shall  call  it — for  which  I  have  now 
been  accumulating  material  and  notes  and  gaining  odd 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  125 

bits  of  useful  knowledge  for  a  year.  But  I  think  I  shall 
finish  the  book.  It  might  help  to  straighten  out  the  whole 
administration  of  that  side  of  the  Factory  Acts.  And  I 
think  it  would  be  good  literary  practice  for  me  to  have 
the  shaping  and  finishing  of  another  book  on  a  fairly  small 
scale  before  I  turn  to  a  huge  study. 

I  spent  all  last  evening  sorting  out  masses  of  stuff  which 
had  accumulated  on  my  table,  in  various  pamphlet  boxes 
and  envelopes.  I  felt  at  the  end  of  it  that  I  have  almost 
certainly  acquired  more  real  knowledge  in  the  last  three 
years  than  I  ever  could  have  done  simply  by  sitting  down 
and  grinding  at  Blue-books  without  the  knocking  about 
and  practical  experience  which  I  have  had.  I  wonder 
if  my  mind  is  really  untypical  in  this  way.  I  must  see, 
and  if  possible  be,  a  part  of  any  social  phenomenon  before 
knowledge  about  it  becomes  a  burning  reality.  I  don't 
think  I  could  really  feel  what  Factory  Acts  mean  if  I  hadn't 
had  three  years  of  official  work,  with  plenty  of  overtime 
at  intervals — for  all  the  difference  between  my  work  and 
that  of  a  spinner  or  weaver.  And  the  direct  feeling  of 
indignation  and  shame  at  the  sweating  and  unjust  treat- 
ment of  clerks  who  are  a  part  of  the  same  administrative 
organization  as  oneself  has  been  more  "  real  "  than  the 
knowledge  of  far  worse  injustices  through  Blue-books. 
Then  coming  up  against  casuals  of  the  worst  type  in  Leeds 
has  given  me  a  direct  vision  of  what  a  brute  beast  savagery 
society  condemns  such  men  to,  by  treating  them  with  less 
responsibility  than  its  cattle.  All  this  is  commonplace. 
And  yet  it  exists  for  me  as  real  knowledge. 

I  rather  liked  Morley's  address  at  Manchester  last  week. 
Of  course,  he  is  old-fashioned  in  some  ways.  But  he  has 
always  had  a  very  keen  sense  of  the  relation  between 
knowledge  and  life  and  a  proper  scorn  of  culture  as  an 
end  in  itself.  There  is  a  fine  passage  about  that  in  his 
Life  of  Cobden  which  pleased  me  long  ago.  Morley's 
character  has  always  attracted  me.  I  know  he  isn't  my 
sort  a  bit,  and  he  would  disapprove  of  most  of  me  probably. 
But  I  feel  he  has  a  touch — no  more  than  a  touch,  of  course 
— of  that  gentle  strength  of  Julius  Caesar. 

I  was  wondering  yesterday  why  the  devil  the  world  didn't 


126  KEELING  LETTERS 

found  a  religion  on  Caesar  instead  of  on  Christ.  Of  course 
one  feels  instinctively  that  it  couldn't  be  done.  But  to 
me  it  also  seems  that  Caesar  was  a  far  greater  personality. 
Of  course  they  did  worship  Caesar — "  Divus  Casar." 
Perhaps  it  wasn't  so  incongruous  as  it  has  been  made  to 
appear  by  damned  Christian  scholars.  Worship  isn't  the 
same  thing  as  prayer — of  course  the  Christian  religion 
distinguishes  between  prayer  and  praise.  Prayer  is  gener- 
ally humbug — only  a  very  few  people  have  the  genius 
for  it  ;  for  the  rest  it  is  mere  superstition,  and,  of  course, 
the  great  majority  of  people,  even  in  the  hypocritical 
England  of  to-day,  don't  pretend  to  practise  it.  But 
praise  is  a  much  more  normal  line  of  expression.  And 
there  are  lots  of  gods  that  you  can  praise  whom  you  wouldn't 
pray  to.  And  I  suspect  that  the  "  Divus  Ccesar  "  busi- 
ness was  a  matter  of  praise  rather  than  prayer — the  same 
emotion  as  that  indulged  in  by  monarchists  who  drink 
the  health  of  George  V,  only  purified  and  raised  to  a  rather 
higher  level,  and  on  the  occasions  when  the  emperors  were 
really  great  men  whom  one  could  admire  (not  convenient 
opportunists  like  the  pharisaical  Augustus),  mingled  with 
an  element  of  genuine  hero-worship. 

We  shall  come  back  to  pluralism  as  James  prophesied, 
though  anything  like  a  Positivist  calendar  of  great  men 
is  as  farcical  as  the  popish  calendar  of  twenty-five  thousand 
saints. 

By  the  way,  I  might  come  down  to  your  cottage  for 
four  or  five  days  about  August  Bank  Holiday.  Would 
Fisher  be  there  then  ?  I  should  like  to  meet  him. 

To  the  Same. 

12  July,  1912. 

I  have  had  a  most  interesting  day  in  Bradford  to-day 
inquiring  about  van-boys.  I  feel  that  two  or  three  years 
of  thinking  about  and  working  at  the  juvenile  labour 
problem  has  given  us  an  effective  sort  of  grasp  of  it  as  a 
whole.  I  am  more  and  more  attracted  by  my  idea  of  turning 
the  whole  mass  of  unskilled  boy  workers  into  a  corps  T— 
if  only  one  could  get  the  right  people  to  run  it. 
1  For  details  of  this  scheme  see  Appendix  I. 


LEEDS  AND  TIROL  127 

The  officers  of  the  corps  would  have  to  be  Board  of 
Trade  officials — of  quite  a  different  sort  from  the  grade 
of  the  L.E.  officials.  I  think  they  could  be  found — enough 
to  start  it  anyway.  It  would  make  a  decent  alternative 
career  for  some  of  the  University  people  who  become 
teachers ;  there  is  no  reason  why  it  shouldn't  be  alternated 
with  teaching  work  of  an  ordinary  kind,  though  most 
ordinary  teachers  wouldn't  do  the  job.  I  imagine  that 
some  Army  or  Navy  officers  could  do  it — though  I  detest 
them  both  in  general,  more  especially  the  former. 


CHAPTER  VI 

SWITZERLAND    AND    ITALY 

SEPTEMBER  AND  OCTOBER,  1912. 

To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

ZURICH.'     15  September,  1912. 

.  .  .  INTERNATIONAL  conferences  seem  to  be  well  worth 
attending.  I  have  learned  lots  of  things  which  it  would 
have  been  very  difficult  to  pick  up  from  reading  any  number 
of  reports  and  have  made  quite  a  number  of  friends.  .  .  . 

The  predominance  of  women  in  the  English  Section  is 
remarkable.  A  large  proportion  of  the  leading  Labour 
legislation  experts  in  English,  outside  the  officials,  are 
women  :  Miss  Tuckwell,  Miss  C.  Smith,  Miss  Sanger,  Mrs. 
H.  J.  Tennant,  Miss  MacArthur,  Mrs.  Deane  Streatfield, 
and  Miss  Hutchins.  I  don't  think  you  can  put  any  men 
on  a  par  with  them  except  Webb  and  Sir  T.  Oliver.  It  is 
a  jolly  fine  thing,  and  I  feel  proud  of  my  country  for  it. 
They  really  are  a  very  fine  set  of  women. 

The  whole  International  Labour  Legislation  movement 
seems  to  me  immensely  important.  We  are  well  on  the 
way  to  clearing  white  phosphorus  off  the  face  of  the  earth. 
We  have  stopped  the  night-work  of  women  nearly  every- 
where except  that  those  blackleg  Belgians  have  taken 
a  time-limit  of  five  or  ten  years  for  it.  ... 

We  are  on  the  threshold  of  a  ten-hours  day  for  women, 
which  will  mean  screwing  up  the  English  standard  in  non- 
textile  factories  by  a  precious  half-hour.  You  need  to  be, 
so  to  speak,  soaked  in  the  atmosphere  of  factory  questions 
to  feel  what  that  means  and  how  much  it  is  worth  fighting 
for.  We  shall  also  probably  get  the  night-work  of  boys 

1  He  was  at  Zurich  for  a  Conference  of  the  "  International 
Association  for  Labour  Legislation."  See  Appendix  II. 

128 


SWITZERLAND  AND  ITALY  129 

prohibited  at  the  same  time  as  the  result  of  the  official 
conference  in  the  spring.  But  if  we  pull  off  an  international 
eight-hour  day,  for  men  and  boys  alike,  in  iron  and  steel, 
which  seems  probable,  that  will  be  the  biggest  thing  of 
all  and  will  bring  the  international  aspect  of  factory  reform 
much  more  to  the  front.  It  is  obvious  that  the  difference 
between  an  eight  and  a  twelve-hour  day  at  a  rolling  mill 
or  an  open  hearth  furnace  is  almost  the  difference  between 
civilization  and  barbarism.  And  once  we  get  eight,  we 
shall  be  on  the  way  to  six,  which  is  already  almost  practical 
politics  in  the  Welsh  tin-plate  trade. 

I  had  a  most  interesting  time  in  Winterthur  yesterday, 
in  the  Salzen  engineering  works,  where  4,500  men  and  lads 
are  employed.  Old  Salzen-Ziegler,  who  took  me  round, 
is  a  Swiss  M.P.,  and  really  a  most  enlightened  old  fellow 
in  some  ways,  though  the  whole  atmosphere  in  the  works 
was  a  good  deal  too  patriarchally  benevolent  for  my  English 
tastes.  Fancy  every  workman  taking  off  his  hat  when  old 
Salzer  came  past.  They  don't  do  that  in  Yorkshire.  Of 
course  they  really  might  do  it  there  now  without  any  harm. 
One  doesn't  mind  it  if  one  knows  there  is  something  approach- 
ing human  equality  behind  it.  But  only  one-fifth  of  Salzer's 
people  are  in  unions.  He  evidently  doesn't  like  trade 
unionism,  but  he  really  is  awfully  good  about  factory 
conditions  and  knows  a  tremendous  lot  about  accident 
prevention  and  ventilation.  His  system  of  training  for 
apprentices  interested  me.  I  got  papers  about  it.  I 
shall  have  quite  enough  stuff  to  fill  up  my  School  Child 
column  from  things  I  have  picked  up  here,  and  will  include 
something  about  that. 

Salzer  cursed  the  French  for  not  carrying  out  their 
Factory  Acts.  ...  He  says  that  what  happens  there  is 
that  the  Ministry  passes  Factory  Acts  as  the  result  of 
sectional  pressure,  but  does  not  carry  them  out  from  the 
fear  of  upsetting  other  sections.  I  wonder  if  that  is  right. 
Miss  C.  Smith  says  that  Dilke  used  to  say  that  Fontaine, 
the  permanent  official  at  the  head  of  the  French  Labour 
Department,  who  has  been  here,  was  the  best  head  of  a 
Labour  Department  in  Europe.  But  I  rather  think  that 
there  is  something  in  the  more  or  less  commonplace  idea 

10 


130  KEELING  LETTERS 

that  the  business  of  the  French  is  to  give  us  a  fine  and 
moving  expression  of  general  principles,  as  old  Bourgeois 
certainly  does,  while  the  English  and  Germans  really  work 
them  out  in  detail. 

To  the  Same. 

ZURICH.     16  September,  1912. 

I  have  not  had  any  intimate  talks  with  Germans  at  all 
here,  excluding  German-Swiss.  The  Germans  in  the  Con- 
gress seemed  rather  more  inclined  to  keep  to  themselves 
than  the  other  nationalities.  .  .  . 

I  think  S.  is  wrong  about  Grey  and  foreign  politics,  though 
I  do  think  it  is  possible  for  statesmen  to  cause  a  war  by 
sheer  stupidity.  Perhaps  most  wars  have  been  so  caused. 

What  does  Persia  matter  compared  with  the  East  End 
or  the  Liverpool  slums  ?  It  really  does  look  as  if  there 
were  abominable  iniquities  going  on  there,  but  I  wonder 
how  much  better  they  managed  or  could  manage  things 
themselves. 

It  is  a  queer  thing  that  people  can't  see  the  needs  and  pro- 
blems of  civilization  as  a  whole.  I  think  the  bottom  of  the 
business  is  that  people  like  the  sentimental  position  of  call- 
ing out  on  behalf  of  some  miserable  little  persecuted  tribe, 
especially  if  you  can  attach  the  word  "  nation  "  to  it.  .  .  . 

I  am  much  interested  in  Churchill's  speech.  The  idea 
of  about  six  States  for  England  is  good.  I  think  it  would 
be  good  for  them  to  have  education,  from  University  down 
to  elementary,  public  health,  control  of  water,  gas,  light 
railways,  agriculture,  police,  housing,  and,  to  a  large  extent, 
land.  There  is  enough  in  that  to  keep  any  parliament 
going,  and  real  problems  too. 

I  cannot  see  any  valid  argument  for  centralizing  education 
for  the  whole  of  England.  The  case  for  centralizing  com- 
pany and  commercial  law  and  Factory  and  Mines  Acts  and 
unemployed  schemes  rests  on  special  arguments,  based 
on  the  nature  of  the  thing  to  be  dealt  with.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  the  Board  of  Education  is  to  a  large  extent 
clogged  now  by  the  friction  of  the  internal  parts  of  its  own 
machinery,  and  that  it  would  gain  greatly  by  being  split 
up.  It  has  already  a  special  department  for  Wales. 


SWITZERLAND  AND  ITALY  131 

I  am  looking  forward  to  getting  to  Lugano.  The  one 
thing  I  do  want  now  that  I  shall  not  get  there  is  good 
music,  or  music  of  any  kind.  I  agree  with  Gissing  in 
"  Henry  Ryecroft  "  in  having  often  felt  gratitude  to  casual, 
indifferent  piano  players  at  houses  I  have  passed,  or  even 
for  barrel  organs.  There  is  some  one  in  this  hotel  who 
plays  divinely.  I  wouldn't  mind  having  a  wife  who  could 
play  well.  But  I  suppose  that  is  male  egoism. 

To  the  Same. 

ON  LAKE  OF  LUCERNE. 

17  September,  1912. 

I  got  your  letter  last  night  and  the  Nation.  I  am  getting 
a  little  tired  of  the  lack  of  "  Real-Politik  "  in  a  lot  of 
the  advanced  Radical  talk  about  certain  questions.  There 
seems  to  me  a  lack  of  contact  with  reality  amongst  these 
Radicals  in  connection  with  foreign  politics,  just  as  there 
is  amongst  Tories  in  connection  with  social  questions.  I 
am  beginning  to  understand  why  we  get  a  reputation  for 
hypocrisy.  I  detest  the  idea  of  war  more  than  ever  I  did, 
but  we  shall  never  get  a  world-peace  organized  on  a  basis 
of  quasi-English  parliamentary  government  for  every 
blessed  tribe  that  English  Radicals  choose  to  call  a  nation. 
I  should  like  to  see  Europe  dominated  in  politics  by  England 
and  Germany  acting  in  common,  if  possible  also  working 
in  conjunction  with  America.  At  the  same  time  I  see  that 
it  is  very  hard  for  us  to  get  out  of  the  position  we  are  in, 
whether  we  need  have  got  there  or  not.  There  is  a  lot  of 
force  in  Grey's  contention  that  if  we  weakened  on  the 
Entente  with  France,  we  should  get  a  reputation  for  slippery 
dealings  with  our  friends  which  would  make  it  difficult  to 
build  up  stable  relations  with  any  one.  So  in  the  end  I 
reach  an  almost  negative  conclusion,  pretty  well  in  general 
support,  though  not  enthusiastic  support,  of  the  Govern- 
ment's foreign  policy  as  it  is,  except  for  a  suspicion  that 
greater  diplomatic  skill  could  have  avoided  arousing 
German  antagonism.  The  great  thing  is  to  keep  the  peace 
somehow  for  thirty  or  forty  years,  with  as  few  scares  and 
diplomatic  rows  as  possible ;  that  will  in  the  end  produce 
cessation  of  the  waste  of  money  on  armaments,  especially 


182  KEELING  LETTERS 

if,  as  is  almost  inevitable,  genuine  self-government  and 
genuine  education  are  really  developing  in  every  country. 
Realism — that  is  what  I  want  to  cultivate  in  every 
sphere  of  my  thought  and  life  in  the  next  few  years,  a  realism 
compatible  with  the  social  and  political  ideals  which,  with 
many  tortuosities,  I  built  up  for  myself  in  a  perpetually 
hostile  environment  for  the  first  twenty  years  of  my  life, 
and  which  I  have  flaunted  in  the  face  of  the  world  with  a 
strange  mixture  of  futility  and  (here  and  there)  effectiveness, 
for  the  last  four  years.  A  strain  of  fanaticism  such  as  I 
have  can  be  very  useful,  if  you  know  when  not  to  apply 
it.  Whether  or  not  I  can  learn  that  I  don't  know  for 
certain.  I  am  optimistic  enough  to  think  on  the  whole 
that  I  can,  and  also  that  I  can  apply  it  in  directions 
where  most  people  can  perceive  only  the  laborious  and  the 
commonplace. 

To  the  Same. 

PENSION  VILLA  DU  MIDI, 
CASSARATE,  LUGANO,  SWITZERLAND. 
18  September,  1912. 

This  place  where  I  have  settled  down  is  in  a  glorious 
position,  on  the  edge  of  the  lake,  so  that  I  can  easily  bathe 
in  the  mornings,  and  with  a  fine  view  of  Lugano,  San 
Salvatore  (behind  which  the  moon  sets  in  the  evening), 
and  of  the  lake  nearly  down  to  the  place  where  the  St. 
Gotthard  Railway  crosses  it.  It  is  very  cheap — only  5.50 
per  day.  The  only  disadvantage  is  the  other  guests,  who  are 
about  the  stuffiest  lot  of  Germans  I  ever  struck.  But  except 
at  the  somewhat  tedious  business  of  dinner  and  abendcssen 
they  don't  bother  one.  The  garden  is  a  real  delight. 

I  have  been  sitting  here  all  the  morning,  writing  some 
necessary  letters  most  of  the  time,  and  reading  Goethe's 
Life  during  the  rest.  I  have  also  been  reading  a  lot  of 
Heine's  poems.  How  extraordinarily  unlike  modern  Ger- 
many he  is — for  the  matter  of  that,  Goethe  is  too.  I  think 
there  is  a  great  similarity  between  the  vices  of  modern 
Germans  and  of  Americans — the  national  vices  of  new- 
fangled nationality.  Self-consciousness  would  appear  to 
be  a  defect  in  a  society,  just  as  it  is  in  an  individual  or 


SWITZERLAND  AND  ITALY  183 

(vide  Anatole  France)  in  a  Church.  We  are  not  and  can 
never  pretend  to  be  one  "  nation  "  in  the  United  Kingdom ; 
we  are  not  much  nearer  being  a  nation  than  Switzerland 
can  pretend  to  be.  The  fissure  between  Anglicanism  and 
honest  Protestantism  is  almost  as  great  for  political  purposes 
as  that  between  Protestantism  and  honest  Catholicism. 
(It  is  probably  bad  for  a  religion  to  be  too  honest.)  I 
suppose  there  is  now  scarcely  a  single  Western  European 
State  which  keeps  two  systems  of  law  going  as  distinct 
as  Scottish  and  English  law,  and  in  which  there  is  a  more 
marked  racial  fissure  than  between  the  Irish  and  the  English. 
I  think  all  this  is  to  the  good.  It  shows  that  uniformity 
and  centralization  can  be  introduced  for  political  pur- 
poses in  spheres  where  they  are  obviously  convenient 
without  interfering  with  differences  in  the  expression  of 
civilized  life. 

I  like  Churchill's  way  of  stating  the  case  for  federalism 
very  much.  Were  it  not  for  the  immediate  political  exi- 
gencies of  the  case — the  party  system,  I  suppose  you  would 
say — I  don't  see  why  Ulster,  or  rather  the  four  Orange 
counties,  should  not  be  given  a  separate  Parliament.  It 
would  be  as  big  a  State  as  a  lot  of  the  American  or  Australian 
States  or  as  some  of  the  Canadian  provinces.  I  suppose  it 
would  have  a  larger  population  than  Wales.  And  the  senti- 
mental desire  of  the  Irish  to  colour  the  whole  of  their 
island  green  doesn't  appeal  to  me  much.  That  sort  of 
political  idealism  is  half  a  century  out  of  date.  The  only 
disadvantage  would  be  that  I  suppose  there  would  be  a 
wasteful  cross-current  of  a  "  United  Ireland  "  movement 
in  Irish  politics.  The  great  thing  Ireland  wants  to  do  now 
is  to  avoid  political  waste. 

I  must  confess  that  I  have  a  good  deal  of  resentment 
against  these  accursed  Ulstermen,  who  seem  to  me  to  be 
the  most  objectionable  set  of  people  in  the  British  Isles, 
and  their  outrageous  brutalities  in  the  last  few  weeks  are 
really  far  worse  than  anything  I  can  think  of  in  English 
history  since  Peterloo,  or  the  hanging  of  the  agricultural 
labourers  that  Hammond  describes.  But  it  is  no  use 
letting  oneself  be  carried  away  by  resentment  over  these 
hateful  incidents.  I  can  understand  them,  since  I  am  myself 


184  KEELING  LETTERS 

a  good  deal  nearer  the  type  of  Ulsterman  than  that  of 
the  Irish  Nationalist. 

I  was  immensely  pleased  with  the  style  of  two  Prefaces 
to  Heine's  poems.  When  I  have  finished  the  Goethe  and 
the  poems  I  shall  try  to  get  some  more  of  Heine's  prose— 
the  "  Reisebilder,"  or  something.  Goethe's  description  of 
his  childhood  is  very  good,  though  I  am  induced  to  think 
he  reads  things  into  it  from  his  later  life.  But  I  suppose 
every  one  does  that. 

It  is  a  fine  experience  to  come  over  the  Gotthard.  This  is 
the  first  time  I  have  come  all  the  way  over  by  train  in  the 
daytime.  The  sharp  line  between  Italian  and  German  life 
is  so  striking.  And  yet  the  people  on  both  sides  do  exactly 
the  same  things  in  exactly  the  same  ways  most  of  their 
lives.  Are  they  really  different  in  their  natures — and  if  so, 
how  ?  I  wonder.  I  shall  climb  one  or  two  of  the  big 
mountains  near  here,  but  this  garden  and  the  sun  and  the 
lake  will  suffice  for  most  of  my  time. 

19  September,   1912. 

A  young  Frenchman  turned  up  here  yesterday.  I  tried 
him  with  a  little  French  this  afternoon,  and  found  that  I 
could  just  manage  to  carry  on  a  conversation.  He  is  in 
the  French  Ministry  of  Labour  and  (I  presume  in  his  spare 
time)  is  taking  Law  and  Social  Economy  at  the  University 
of  Paris.  His  chief  professor  is  Raoul  Jay,  whom  I  saw 
and  heard  at  Zurich,  and  he  is  writing  a  thesis  on  pension 
schemes  for  railway  servants.  We  had  a  long  talk  and  I 
picked  up  some  useful  information — though  I  don't  think  his 
knowledge  is  very  extensive.  Unfortunately,  I  haven't,  as  I 
usually  do  on  the  Continent,  brought  a  French  dictionary 
with  me.  I  have  hardly  ever  spoken  the  language,  and 
my  expressions  must  be  very  queer ;  however,  I  generally 
manage  to  get  in  what  I  want  to  say  in  some  way  or  other. 

I  rather  think  this  fellow  is  a  sort  of  Catholic  or  Christian 
Socialist.  He  spoke  of  Jay  as  a  Catholic  Socialist  with 
great  enthusiasm,  and  also  said  that  some  other  leading 
French  economist — I  think  Gide — is  a  Protestant.  I  shall 
try  him  with  Anatole  France  when  we  have  another  talk. 
This  morning  early  I  had  a  delightful  swim  in  the  lake. 


SWITZERLAND  AND  ITALY  135 

I  really  think  this  is  about  the  most  delightful  spot  I  have 
ever  stayed  at.  The  mountain  of  San  Salvatore,  which  is 
directly  opposite,  has  the  most  beautiful  shape.  The  moon 
sets  every  evening  behind  it,  and  on  the  right  are  the 
lights  of  Lugano. 

I  read  Goethe  all  this  morning.  It  is  a  long  and  fairly 
solid  book,  but  pretty  full  of  interest.  I  wish  he  would 
hurry  up  and  get  on  to  his  women  though  !  Lewes  writes 
about  that  side  of  him  in  such  a  damned  silly  way  that  I 
want  to  see  what  Goethe  has  to  say  for  himself. 

To  the  Same. 

PENSION  VILLA  DU  MIDI, 
CASSARATE,  LUGANO,  SWITZERLAND. 
20  September,  1912. 

I  was  so  glad  to  get  your  letter  yesterday.  I  have  been 
doing  nothing  but  read,  sleep,  stroll  about  and  occasionally 
talk  here.  Yesterday  evening  I  had  another  talk  with  the 
young  Frenchman.  He  showed  me  a  lot  of  books  he  is 
reading  for  an  exam,  in  the  theory  and  practice  of  Labour 
Protection — just  the  subject  out  of  which  I  hope  to  make 
my  magnum  opus  in  the  next  two  or  three  years.  It  was 
most  useful  to  get  the  names  of  the  books  and  have  a  look 
at  them — I  might  not  have  come  across  them  except  after 
considerable  hunting  about  in  England.  It  also  interests 
me  that  they  make  a  regular  course  in  France  out  of  the 
subject  about  which  I  intend  to  write.  The  French  ought 
not  to  be  so  far  behind  Germany  and  England  in  practice, 
seeing  that  they  seem  to  have  the  theory  of  the  whole 
business  so  clearly  arranged.  Yet  there  is  no  doubt  that 
they  are. 

I  am  afraid  I  cannot  read  the  sort  of  stuff  that  Z.  turns 
out  with  anything  but  irritation.  There  seems  to  me 
a  strain  of  futility — a  sort  of  civilized  snarl  about  the 
whole  thing— that  is  utterly  distasteful  to  me.  It  leads 
nowhere.  No  doubt  the  bulk  of  it  is  true — in  spite  of  fairly 
frequent  blatant  errors  of  fact.  But  somehow  I  don't 
see  it  moving  anybody  to  any  practical  purpose — except 
a  small  knot  of  kindred  spirits,  who  are  in  effect  an  isolated 
element  in  the  community.  It  appears  to  me,  for  instance, 


136  KEELING  LETTERS 

to  be  utterly  futile  to  go  on  yapping  against  the  Insurance 
Act.  I  don't  see  how  any  one  in  his  senses  can  imagine 
that  any  positive  harm  is  done  by  that  measure,  although 
any  one  who  is  not  fundamentally  an  individualist  should 
see  that  the  fresh  obligations  which  it  puts  on  the  State, 
and  the  links  it  sets  up  between  the  individual  and  the 
community,  are  obviously  arranged  on  the  basis  of  an 
imperfect  grasp  of  the  notion  of  social  solidarity. 

But  take  your  England  and  your  working  classes  as  they 
are,  and  could  you  expect  anything  else  except  by  a  lucky 
chance  such  as  gave  us  non-contributory  old  age  pensions  ? 
The  Act  will  do  some  practical  good,  will  render  the  life  of 
the  worker  a  little  less  insecure,  will  advance  social  solidarity 
a  little,  and  leaves  us  just  as  free  to  educate  and  construct 
on  a  collectivist  basis  as  before.  I  don't  think  cavilling  is 
an  effective  element  in  social  education.  It  is  always  more 
profitable  to  teach  people  about  fresh  fields  for  constructive 
action,  and  take  the  inevitable  half-good  and  improve  it 
as  occasion  arises  later  on. 

Just  so  with  that  stuff  you  sent  me  of  his  about  inter- 
national finance — obviously  as  cleverly  written  as  it  could 
well  be  by  any  one  devoid  of  much  real,  solid  knowledge  of 
the  subject.  We  know  all  that — but  how  can  we  help 
ourselves  ?  There  is  no  short  cut  to  democracy  if  you 
haven't  got  some  sort  of  real  basis  for  it  in  approximate 
economic  equality  and  general  education,  and  much  more 
widely  spread  State  control  of  capital.  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing often  that  the  people  who  merely  repeat  the  obvious 
objections  to  the  social  system  as  it  is,  without  any  sort 
of  constructive  notions  based  on  a  close  contact  with  reality 
and  with  a  continual  anxiety  to  throw  overboard  the  half- 
loaves  that  we  get  alternately  with  whole  loaves — that  these 
people  may  actually  hinder  progress  rather  than  help  it. 
I  may  be  wrong — it  is  no  use  quarrelling  with  them ;  their 
cussedness  (as  it  seems  to  me)  is  obviously  the  product  of 
psychological  conditions  that  can't  be  altered.  So  the  best 
thing  I  can  do  is  to  keep  away  from  them,  seeing  that  I  find 
it  very  hard  to  keep  my  temper  in  their  presence,  learn 
nothing  from  them,  and  distrust  their  judgment  too  much 
to  accept  readily  anything  I  might  learn. 


SWITZERLAND  AND  ITALY  137 

Of  course  I  know  there  is  always  a  i  in  (say)  20  chance 
that  you  may  get  a  social  upheaval,  and  that  then  /  shall 
be  utterly  out  of  it  and  (possibly,  though  this  is  doubtful) 
the  people  who  always  backed  the  i  chance  will  be  on  top. 
But  then  it  is  so  clear  to  me  that  the  chances  after  all  are 
only  about  i  in  5  that  they  would  pull  anything  off  per- 
manently, that  on  the  whole  I  think  it  more  civic-minded 
to  abjure  a  desire  for  the  excitement  as  a  political  lever 
altogether. 

In  short,  I  don't  believe  in  short  cuts,  and  purely  de- 
structive criticism  is  not  much  in  my  line.  I  am  always 
instinctively  thinking  of  how  much  can  be  got  out  of  this 
or  that  proposal,  especially  if  it  is  more  or  less  inevitable. 
My  personal  feeling  is  that  a  man  like  Z.  would  be  much 
more  useful  if  he  left  politics  alone  and  confined  himself 
to  the  problems  of  individual  human  life  in  its  social 
relations,  for  dealing  with  which  his  quick  intelligence  and 
sympathy  obviously  fit  him. 

I  don't  care  to  have  to  do  with  him  personally,  because 
his  inability  to  keep  certain  inevitable  assumptions  at  the 
back  of  his  head  seems  to  me  to  render  most  of  what  he  says 
about  the  things  which  interest  me  futile,  and  a  good  part 
of  it  ridiculous.  I  feel  an  instinctive  repulsion  for  the 
obsessed  method  of  looking  at  things  which  I  thought  I 
saw  in  Hyndman  also  in  a  similar  sort  of  way.  Both  of 
them  obviously  possess  very  keen  intelligence,  and  both  of 
them  seem  strangely  unable  to  apply  it  to  certain  quarters 
of  their  assumptions.  In  ordinary  stupid  people,  of  course, 
one  takes  impenetrability  to  reason  on  matters  such  as 
religious  dogma  or  common  ethical  notions  as  a  matter  of 
course.  But  there  is  something  uncanny  to  me  in  a  mind 
which  possesses  highly  organized  receptivity  in  most  of 
its  parts  and  presents  an  utter  impenetrability  in  certain 
more  or  less  unexpected  quarters. 

Well,  I  had  rather  write  a  letter  to  you  about  something 
else  than  all  this.  But  you  more  or  less  flung  the  subject 
at  me. 

I  turned  from  my  German  this  morning  to  French,  in 
order  to  try  to  pick  up  a  few  words  to  make  conversation 


188  KEELING  LETTERS 

with  my  friend  more  easy.  I  have  a  volume  of  Voltaire 
with  me  and  read  "  Candide "  coming  out  here.  This 
morning  I  read  "  L'inconnu."  By  God  !  I  do  enjoy  Voltaire. 
He  does  clear  away  rubbish  out  of  the  mind,  though  he 
may  not  give  you  a  great  deal  in  its  place.  And  yet  his 
humanity  is  a  very  large  and  noble  feeling.  It  is  easy  to 
forget  what  uncontrolled  monarchical  tyranny  meant  in 
France — and  even  in  England — in  the  seventeenth  century, 
and  what  a  very  real  curse  arbitrary  imprisonment  was. 
I  have  seen  Tolstoy  compared  to  Voltaire  in  his  moral 
influence  in  Europe,  but  I  think  Voltaire  is  really  more  like 
Shaw  than  any  other  great  writer.  (I  seem  to  remember 
that  Shaw  quotes  him  a  good  deal  in  one  or  more  of  his 
Prefaces.)  They  both  have  that  plain,  straightforward, 
direct  sympathy  for  humanity,  and  both,  it  seems  to  me, 
succeed  in  making  it  as  rich  and  real  a  feeling  as  any  super- 
natural religious  sentiment.  I  wonder  if  the  world  as  a 
whole  is  dropping  back  into  supernaturalism  just  now. 
It  is  noteworthy  that  people  like  MacDonald  and  Mrs.  Webb 
play  up  to  religion  in  a  way  that  Mill  and  Morley  would 
have  scorned  to  do,  and  which  I  trust  I  shall  never  do. 
(I  don't  mean  to  imply  that  MacDonald  and  Mrs.  Webb 
aren't  sincere,  they  are.)  But  on  the  whole  I  don't  think 
there  is  any  set-back.  I  don't  set  much  store  by  the  influence 
of  the  High  Church  people  on  a  good  number  of  Oxford 
undergraduates.  All  that  I  have  met — even  when  Socialists 
in  politics — are  so  obviously  unmodern  in  most  of  their 
notions  that  one  sees  that  they  are  not  an  essential  part 
of  the  brain  of  society.  If  only  the  State  can  make  itself 
sufficiently  loved — if  only  people  feel  that  they  owe  a  con- 
siderable part  at  least  of  the  good  things  of  everyday  life 
to  it — that  will  be  the  real  beginning  of  the  end  of  aber- 
glaiibc.  No  doubt  there  will  always  be  private  cults  for 
various  forms  of  mysticism — but  the  main  stream  of  what 
is  now  religious  emotion  will  be  bound  up  indistinguishably 
both  in  thought  and  expression  with  the  emotions  of  civic 
life,  of  art,  and  of  the  enthusiasm  of  humanity.  And  the 
degrading  drivel  of  the  hymn  books,  with  which  the 
minds  of  millions  of  children  are  still  vilified  and  closed 
to  finer  forms  of  moral  and  aesthetic  feeling,  and  the 


SWITZERLAND  AND  ITALY  139 

nonsensical  jabber  of  Christian  theology  will  pass  away 
for  ever. 

I  have  just  got  your  post  card.  I  don't  think  you  will 
care  for  C-  -  much  yourself.  You  always  seem  to  me  so 
much  more  anxious  to  find  out  what  we  can't  learn  from 
Australia  than  what  we  can.  The  big  fact  remains  that  we 
have  put  the  minimum  wage  into  practice  through  their 
example,  and  that  all  reasonable  people  are  agreed  that  the 
minimum  wage  all  over  Australia  has  given  the  working 
classes  a  larger  proportion  of  the  total  amount  of  wealth 
produced.  Melbourne,  Sidney,  and  Adelaide  don't  differ 
essentially  from  Manchester,  Liverpool,  and  Leeds  in  indus- 
trial organization.  The  Brisbane  strike  seems  to  me  neither 
here  nor  there  in  the  main  practical  issue — except  as  showing 
(along  with  one  or  two  big  recent  strikes)  that  you  can't 
do  as  much  by  strikes  as  people  who  have  forgotten  the 
earlier  history  of  strikes  in  England  and  Sweden  thought 
you  could — though  you  may  do  a  great  deal.  Of  course, 
the  people  who  want  the  legal  minimum  wage  simply  in 
order  to  stop  strikes  can  make  a  lot  out  of  the  Brisbane 
business — but  we  are  not  in  that  set.  C—  -  has  no  ex- 
citing ideas,  is  not  a  Socialist,  and  regards  the  political 
Socialist  in  Australia  as  rather  a  nuisance,  in  which  I  am 
inclined  to  agree  with  him,  from  what  little  I  know. 

I  am  tired  of  this  eternal  preaching  of  disillusionment 
with  this,  that,  or  the  other  by  people  who  expect  impossible 
things  at  the  start. 

Well,  dear,  I  wish  you  hadn't  put  me  in  a  bad  temper 
by  sending  me  that  stuff  of  G.'s.  Your  letter  moved  me 
very  much,  but  I  can't  get  back  into  a  decent  mood  now, 
so  I  will  end. 

To  the  Same. 

LUGANO. 
25  September,   1912. 

...  I  am  sorry  I  wrote  ill-temperedly  on  Friday,  or  when- 
ever it  was.  You  know  I  am  not  a  mere  bureaucrat  in 
politics.  I  am  a  democrat  in  all  that  democracy  can  mean 
in  the  sphere  of  actual  life.  That  is  why  I  am  intolerant 


140  KEELING  LETTERS 

of  what  appears  to  me  a  misdirection  of  popular  movements. 
If  I  valued  the  movements  less,  I  should  care  less.  But 
intolerance  is  always  futile,  even  as  against  the  biggest  fools. 
I  know  that  really,  but  find  patience  the  hardest  of  all  the 
virtues  to  practise. 

I  am  sorry  the  new  German  Ambassador  to  England 
has  died.  I  think  he  would  have  done  good  work.  He 
was  a  Baden  man.  I  am  looking  forward  to  learning  more 
about  German  foreign  policy  from  Dudley.  He  is  as  anti- 
French  in  foreign  policy  as  I  am  and  certainly  started  with 
no  prejudice  in  that  direction. 

The  German  professor  really  lays  himself  out  to  be 
extraordinarily  pleasant  to  me  in  a  more  or  less  formal  way, 
and  I  appreciate  it.  These  people  have  not  the  knowledge 
of  the  art  of  life  that  the  French  have,  but  they  are  our 
natural  allies  in  the  business  of  government  and  organization. 
If  only  a  war  is  avoided,  which  seems  to  me  more  and  more 
probable,  we  are  almost  bound  to  realize  that  sooner  or 
later.  The  idea  of  a  war  becomes  more  and  more  abhorrent 
to  me.  England  has  never  had  the  ghastly  experience 
of  a  Thirty  Years  War,  which  put  Germany  back  perhaps 
a  century.  I  think  the  French  are  much  more  likely  to 
bring  on  a  war  than  we  are.  The  more  I  think  about  the 
whole  business,  the  more  I  distrust  them,  and  the  idea  of 
their  extending  their  colonial  territory  while  Germany 
gets  nothing  is  outrageous. 

I  study  the  Frankfurter  Zcitung,  which  is  the  Manchester 
Guardian  of  Germany,  every  day  carefully.  The  campaign 
for  Free  Trade  in  food  in  the  German  towns  is  remarkable. 
It  seems  to  me  the  biggest  blow  the  reactionaries  have 
had.  .  .  . 

To  the  Same. 

IN  TRAIN  TO  THURINGEN. 
4  October,  1912. 

I  got  your  letter  addressed  to  Lugano  last  night  after 
returning  from  seeing  Strindberg's  "  Todtentanz "  very 
well  acted  at  Reinhardt's  theatre.  .  .  . 

The  Berlin  papers  are  full  of  talk  about  the  Balkans. 
Personally  I  don't  feel  particularly  anxious  for  peace.  I 


SWITZERLAND  AND  ITALY  141 

don't  think  there  is  any  chance  that  war  in  the  Balkans 
would  cause  a  war  among  the  big  European  Powers.  I 
should  on  the  whole  like  to  see  the  power  of  Austria  in  the 
Balkans  extended.  Austria  has  done  a  splendid  civilizing 
work  in  Bosnia,  and  for  the  rest,  though  I  am  not  a  fanatical 
anti-Turk,  I  think  these  Slavonic  Greek  people  in  Macedonia 
could  do  better  for  themselves  if  joined  on  to  the  small 
Christian  Balkan  States  than  the  Turks  do  for  them.  It  is 
difficult  to  see  how  they  could  get  detached  from  Turkey 
without  war.  The  Powers  simply  won't  take  the  final 
step  apparently.  See  how  they  have  kept  Crete  from 
joining  Greece  for  so  long.  War  in  a  place  like  the  Balkans 
seems  to  me  a  different  business  altogether  from  war  in 
Western  Europe  and  must  be  judged  by  different  standards. 
...  I  don't  know  why  you  should  assume  that  I  ignore 
the  importance  of  "  religion "  and  "  art  "  in  society, 
because  I  am  rather  sick  of  the  eternal  klatsch  of  the  masses 
of  second-rate  people  who  are  mainly  interested  in  them 
and  won't  take  the  trouble  to  move  for  the  practical  steps 
which  will  get  rid  of  the  worst  evils  of  poverty.  I  want  to 
get  a  level  of  material  civilization  in  England  equal  to  that 
of  Australia  and  to  secure  to  every  one  a  decent  minimum. 
That  is  a  relatively  sordid  and  obvious  end,  I  know,  but 
it  is  so  easy  to  forget  it  in  the  more  exciting  pursuit  of  the 
(for  civilization)  perhaps  in  the  end  more  important  move- 
ments for  securing  a  real  economic  equality  for  women  and 
a  higher  level  of  real  freedom  and  culture.  My  work  is 
with  the  relatively  sordid  and  commonplace,  and  I  have 
done  for  ever  with  the  froth  of  my  first  youth,  which 
has  been  very  little  good  to  myself  or  any  one  else. 

This  holiday  really  has  been  glorious  for  me.  I  intend  to 
make  myself  as  much  as  possible  a  cosmopolitan  in  thought 
and  habits.  Englishmen  have  no  justifiable  excuse  for  the 
mistakes  due  to  insularity  now.  Matthew  Arnold  was  one 
of  the  few  Englishmen  of  his  generation  who  knew  something 
about  things  outside  his  own  country,  and  the  immense 
advantage  it  gave  him  over  his  contemporaries  as  a  thinker 
on  politics  and  education  has  always  struck  me.  I  have 
hopes  of  writing  a  study  of  him  as  a  political  thinker  some 
day.  He  was  in  many  respects  the  first  modern  collectivist 
in  England. 


142  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  the  Same. 

Sunday,  6  October,  1912,  8  a.m. 

I  had  a  glorious  walk  up  from  Tambach  yesterday  evening 
through  pine  and  beech  woods.  I  do  love  pine  woods.  I 
would  give  all  the  vines  and  sunshine  of  Italy  for  one  deep 
Northern  pine-clad  valley  with  a  flat  strip  of  meadow  and 
a  brook  running  along  the  bottom.  Is  the  feeling  atavism 
or  merely  an  accidental  preference  hi  me  ?  Zimmern  in 
"  The  Greek  Commonwealth  "  has  a  fine  passage  about 
the  inability  of  the  Northerner  to  feel  really  at  home  in 
Mediterranean  surroundings — he  says  it  takes  about  two 
generations  for  the  Teuton  to  become  acclimatized  and 
quotes  from  both  ancient  Greek  and  mediaeval  literature. 
Well,  I  am  a  Northerner  for  good  and  evil,  and  I  would 
sooner  live  in  a  pine  wood  with  the  said  strip  of  meadow 
than  in  the  most  beautiful  cultivated  landscape.  I  love 
the  dark  green  better  even  than  the  magnificent  stretches 
of  gold  which  the  beech-woods  form  now. 

I  walked  last  night  till  it  got  dark,  and  then  happened 
on  an  excellent  hotel  three  miles  from  anywhere,  where  I 
had  a  good  meal  and  much  beer  and  went  to  bed  very  happy. 
I  should  have  got  farther  with  this  letter  to  you  but  for  the 
fact  that  I  found  an  account  of  the  German  Continuation 
School  Congress  in  the  paper,  containing  a  good  deal  of 
information  about  physical  education  in  Continuation 
Schools.  I  will  make  a  small  article  of  about  a  page  for 
the  School  Child  out  of  this  and  further  information  on 
the  subject  which  I  expect  to  get. 

I  think  of  my  work  at  intervals  on  these  long  walks.  I 
happened  to  have  the  same  notebook  in  my  pocket  as  I 
had  when  in  the  Tirol,  and  it  is  curious  to  see  how  my  ideas 
have  developed.  I  must  take  two  clear  years  to  think  and 
read  and  write.  I  feel  a  need  for  accuracy,  exactness,  and 
method  in  political  thought,  in  so  far  as  it  can  be  obtained, 
and  want  to  get  rid  of  amateurishness  in  every  branch  of 
it.  I  believe  I  have  described  to  you  the  moment  when  I 
was  reading  Shaw's  "  Man  and  Superman  "  at  Cambridge 
and  when  the  whole  conception  of  the  solubility  of  property 
and  marriage  came  on  me  like  a  flash.  It  was  a  moment 


SWITZERLAND  AND  ITALY  143 

in  my  life  comparable  with  Rousseau's  vision  of  the  "  Social 
Contract."  It  has  been  the  main  driving  force  of  my 
thought  ever  since.  I  have  used  the  conception  as  a  sort 
of  bludgeon  to  test  the  effectiveness  and  worth  of  everything 
else.  I  have  often  used  it  so  clumsily  that  it  has  recoiled 
on  myself.  But  now  I  want  to  use  it  as  a  wedge  to  prise 
open  the  sealed  chambers  of  thought  which,  though  possibly 
themselves  in  the  main  the  creation  of  economic  circum- 
stances, still  serve  in  their  turn  to  enslave  the  souls  of  men. 
The  real  reason  why  contributory  insurance  schemes  alone 
are  practical  politics  in  England,  whereas  in  Australia  the 
Government  is  simply  going  to  pay  £5  for  every  baby  with- 
out any  haggling  with  ha'pence,  is  that  in  England  the  con- 
ception of  social  solidarity,  of  the  unity  of  the  individual 
and  the  State,  is  relatively  weak,  whereas,  though  Australia 
has  done  very  little  theorizing  on  the  subject,  the  people 
have  nevertheless  developed  a  habit  of  using  the  State 
when  they  want  anything  as  a  matter  of  course.  (This 
isn't  a  very  good  example,  because  of  course  Australia 
wants  population  more  than  we  do,  but  it  illustrates 
what  I  mean.)  Well,  we  have  got  to  have  a  lot  of 
theorizing  and  investigating  and  propaganda  to  get 
what  Australia  has  got  as  a  matter  of  common  sense. 

I  want  to  clear  off  my  certifying  surgeon's  business  ; 
then  the  principles  and  administration  of  Labour  legislation 
in  England  generally — with  a  good  deal  of  comparison  with 
foreign  countries  ;  and  then  perhaps,  if  I  have  had  the 
patience  to  study  law  and  psychology  as  well  as  economics 
adequately,  I  can  attempt  to  re-state  the  whole  conception 
of  the  relation  of  society  and  the  individual — cutting  deeper 
in  a  sense  than  the  ordinary  collectivist  idea  or  than  the 
Webbs'  National  Minimum  idea,  because  I  want  to  analyse 
carefully  the  changes  in  the  conception  of  ownership  and 
the  development  of  State  action  on  behalf  of  the  citizen 
as  consumer  as  well  as  on  behalf  of  the  citizen  as  producer, 
in  ways  other  than  the  upholding  of  personal  property. 
But  I  am  afraid  you  won't  sympathize  with  all  this.  I 
can  only  say  I  feel  a  need  to  clarify  my  mind  and  try  to 
see  a  bit  deeper  into  things  before  I  claim  a  right  to  my 
special  share  in  government  or  administration.  I  want 


144  KEELING  LETTERS 

to  use  the  results  of  economics,  law,  and  social  psychology 
to  check  each  other,  and  to  both  destroy  much  that  is 
futile  in  each  and  perhaps  construct  something  new. 

I  am  now  going  on  to  Eisenach.  I  hope  to  have  time  to 
go  up  the  Wartburg  before  catching  the  5.13  train  to 
Berlin,  but  I  doubt  if  I  shall. 

I  am  finishing  this  after  dinner  at  Rulb,  a  little  place  with 
some  big  factories  where  they  make  small  metal  goods  and 
where  there  is  a  large  tobacco-pipe  industry.  It  belongs, 
half  to  one  of  the  Thuringian  Duchies,  and  half  to  another. 
These  little  Duchies  appear  to  eke  out  their  incomes  by 
keeping  hotels.  (I  have  passed  two  Herzogliche  Wirts- 
hauser.)  At  one  of  them,  Rudolstadt,  there  is  now  a  tre- 
mendous row  ;  ten  out  of  the  twelve  members  of  the  local 
Parliament  are  Social  Democrats  and  won't  vote  the  Budget. 
The  Duke  has  proceeded  to  collect  it,  alleging  that  the 
Constitution  allows  him  to  do  so  in  cases  of  public  danger, 
and  the  highest  legal  authorities  in  Germany  are  discussing 
the  law  of  the  matter. 


Sunday  evening.     9.30  p.m. 

Dudley  and  I  are  on  our  way  back  to  Berlin.  I  joined 
him  on  the  train  at  Erfurt.  I  had  time  to  go  up  the  Wart- 
burg,  but  not  to  go  over  the  old  castle.  I  should  like  to 
have  done  so.  The  Wartburg  is,  I  suppose,  the  most  interest- 
ing historical  spot,  except  perhaps  Aachen  and  Frankfort. 
The  Minnesingers,  Luther,  and  the  early  nineteenth- 
century  national  movement  are  all  connected  closely  with 
the  old  hill.  There  was  rather  a  good  statue  of  Luther 
in  the  town :  he  was  a  fine  old  chap,  but  I  thought 
of  his  views  on  women.  I  shall  have  to  read  more 
about  him. 

I  believe  you  saw  Strindberg's  "  Todtentanz."  I  can't 
believe  they  acted  it  according  to  Strindberg's  instructions 
in  England  even  at  the  Stage  Society.  They  would  not  dare 
to  lay  sex  so  bare.  It  is  a  great  play.  Strindberg  wrote 
a  continuation  to  it  which  I  have  got  and  shall  read 
shortly.  Rupert  Brooke,  who  is  coming  here  in  a  day  or 
two,  wants  to  translate  ',1  Wedekind,"  but  Dudley  and  I 


SWITZERLAND  AND  ITALY  145 

agree  that  he  had  much  better  tackle  Strindberg — but  I 
believe  some  one  is  doing  it — and  of  course  it  would  need 
to  be  done  direct  from  the  Scandinavian.  The  acting  was 
splendid.  It  must  be  an  awful  strain  for  the  two  chief 
players — they  get  practically  no  rests. 

After  to-morrow  I  shall  probably  get  on  to  a  little  work 
— as  the  result  of  meeting  Siidekum,  whom  we  are  dining 
with.  I  didn't  bother  to  get  other  introductions  in  Berlin, 
as  my  journey  is  mostly  holiday,  but  I  want  to  get  at  all 
the  essential  people  in  Hamburg.  I  shall  go  to  Yorkshire 
direct  from  there  on  about  the  iQth,  so  as  to  save  money, 
and  probably  be  in  London  about  the  25th,  unless  I  go 
on  to  some  ports  in  the  north  to  see  dock  labour  schemes — 
but  I  think  I  shall  leave  them  pro  tern.,  as  my  article  is 
not  due  till  March,  and  it  may  as  well  be  up  to  date.  I 
can't  afford  to  go  all  round  Hull,  Middlesbrough,  Glasgow, 
Liverpool,  and  Cardiff  twice. 

By  God !  the  psychology  of  marriage  is  a  queer  thing. 
That  Strindberg  play  and  Schnitzler's  novel  and  the  Danish 
novel  I  am  reading  have  all  stimulated  thought  on  the 
subject. 

I  hope  I  shall  find  a  letter  from  you  when  I  get  back 
in  an  hour  or  so,  and  I  am  half  hoping  to  hear  from  Rachel 
some  time.  I  should  like  to  carry  Bernard  Sidney  about 
a  bit  more.  I  suppose  he  will  be  getting  too  old  soon. 

I  feel  I  am  gradually  getting  the  hang  of  things  about 
Germany  in  some  ways.  Of  course,  being  with  Dudley 
helps — it  having  been  his  job  simply  to  pick  up  general 
information.  This  little  journey  to  Thuringia  has,  for 
instance,  given  me  a  much  clearer  idea  of  the  geography 
of  the  whole  country.  These  Thuringian  forests  practically 
divide  North  and  South  Germany.  I  never  understood 
English  geography  in  general  until  I  lived  in  the  North, 
and  even  now  I  feel  very  vague  about  Scotland.  It  was 
splendid  to  be  on  this  old  primitive  road  along  the  tops  of 
the  hills  and  get  fine  views  north  and  south.  I  came 
across  a  somewhat  rickety  great  scaffolding  just  fifty  feet 

11 


146  KEELING  LETTERS 

high  in  the  middle  of  the  forest.  I  think  it  must  have 
been  put  up  for  military  or  geographical  purposes.  It 
was  a  fearsome  job  climbing  up  the  steps  on  a  perpen- 
dicular pole — a  lot  of  them  had  been  broken  off ;  but  of 
course  I  could  not  resist  doing  it,  though  it  put  the  fear 
of  God  into  me  when  I  was  about  thirty  feet  up. 


CHAPTER  VII 

LIFE    IN    LONDON 

NOVEMBER,  1912,  TO  AUGUST,  1914  (AGED  26  TO  28). 

BEN  had  said  good-bye  to  Leeds  and  given  up  his  house  there 
before  starting  for  Zurich  in  September,  1912,  and  after  his  tour 
in  Germany,  which  concluded  with  a  visit  to  Hamburg  for  the 
purpose  of  investigating  the  organization  of  dock  labour  there,  he 
returned  to  London  and,  after  a  few  weeks,  took  rooms  in  Lincoln's 
Inn,  where  he  lived  until  his  enlistment. 

He  never  worked  harder  than  during  these  months,  to  which 
most  of  the  writing  and  research  described  by  Mr.  Greenwood 
(Appendix  I)  belong.  He  was  associated,  too,  almost  from  its 
beginning,  with  the  New  Statesman,  and  was  eventually  assistant 
editor.  "  His  special  province  on  this  journal  "  (I  quote  from  the 
biographical  notice  which  appeared  in  it  at  the  time  of  his  death) 
"  was  to  deal  with  industrial  questions,  in  relation  to  many  of 
which  there  were  no  higher  authorities  than  he  ;  the  Blue-book 
supplement  was  also  very  largely  his  work." 

From  December,  1911,  to  December,  1913,  he  contributed,  over 
the  signature  "  Accelerans,"  a  page,  sometimes  two,  of  "Juvenile 
Labour  Notes  "  to  a  small  monthly  paper  which,  at  that  time,  I 
was  editing.  These  notes  were  of  considerable  value,  and  it  is  to 
be  regretted  that  they  were  buried  in  a  little-known  periodical. 
They  show  the  extraordinary  vigilance  with  which  he  watched 
over  any  legislation,  any  action  of  Local  Authorities,  or  any 
administrative  slackness,  affecting  the  welfare  of  the  child-worker. 
They  are  full,  too,  of  practical  suggestions  which  he  was,  perhaps, 
better  fitted  to  make,  owing  to  his  experience  in  Care  Committees 
and  Juvenile  Labour  Exchanges,  than  any  one  in  England  at 
that  time. 

Wherever  he  went,  at  home  or  abroad,  he  was  always  keenly 
alive  to  any  new  facts  bearing  on  social  questions.  His  letters  to 
me  teem  with  records  of  this  kind,  which  I  have  often  omitted  as 
they  are  not  usually  of  permanent  or  general  interest. — E.  T. 

117 


148  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  Miss  C.  Townshend.1 

36,  LONGRIDGE  ROAD. 

27  December,  1912. 

.  .  .  Your  mother  was  rather  depressed  when  she  got 
back  from  Birchington,  but  was  cheered  up  by  receiving  an 
excellent  short  article  on  "  Music  in  Schools  "  for  the  School 
Child,  and  also  by  the  news  about  your  getting  the  order 
for  the  Rockhampton  windows.  I  also  am  very  glad  to 
hear  about  the  latter.  Your  mother  showed  me  the  letter. 
I  am  amused  that  the  difficulty  is  about  the  "  Figure  " 
(capital  F  in  respect  of  J.  C.,  I  suppose)  in  the  centre. 
In  view  of  the  many  occasions  on  which  I  have  been  accused 
of  resembling  that  worthy  character,  perhaps  you  could 
hardly  do  better  than  immortalize  me  at  the  same  time  as 
commemorating  him  by  copying  one  of  my  more  shaggy 
portraits  for  the  window.  If,  as  your  mother  says,  this  is 
generally  the  difficulty,  you  could  of  course  get  over  it 
by  catering  for  synagogues  instead  of  churches.  I  don't 
see  why  you  should  confine  yourself  to  decorating  the 
Christian  religion.  Holy  Moses  and  hoary  Abraham  would 
clearly  present  fewer  difficulties  than  the  other  gentleman. 
Then  what  about  the  Young  Turks  ?  I  am  sure  they  must 
have  started  putting  windows  in  the  mosques  since  the 
Revolution.  Ali  and  Haroun-al-Raschid  would  be  great 
fun  splashing  over  a  window.  When  my  conversion  to 
Mohammedanism  is  completed,  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  for 
you  in  that  direction.  I  might  even  go  in  for  some  houris 
with  Mohammed  in  one  of  the  top  lights  for  my  bath-room 
window  in  Lincoln's  Inn.  Have  you  ever  tried  houris  ? 
There  must  be  a  sort  of  Parliament  House  in  Constantinople 
which  could  do  with  some  glass. 

I  have  not  been  up  to  much  to-day.  I  think  I  may 
have  got  a  slight  chill  through  getting  wet.  I  also  nearly 
blew  myself  up  with  the  damned  gas  apparatus  in  your 
bath-room  last  night,  in  endeavouring  to  heat  some  water 
for  a  bath.  I  thought  I  did  everything  all  right,  but  when 

1  My  daughter,  who  is  a  glass-painter,  was  in  Switzerland,  and 
he  was  staying  at  my  house  till  his  rooms  at  Lincoln's  Inn  were 
ready  for  him. 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  149 

I  put  the  match  to  the  damned  thing  there  was  an  awful 
crash  like  a  taxicab  tyre  bursting.  Two  glasses  standing 
on  the  edge  of  the  bath  fell  over,  a  lot  of  queer  dust  came 
out  of  the  guts  of  the  copper  apparatus,  and  I  found  myself 
standing  on  the  other  side  of  the  bath-room  with  an  objec- 
tionable feeling  in  the  back  of  my  throat  and  an  awful 
stink  in  the  room. 

I  hope  the  apparatus  was  not  damaged.  I  did  not  test 
it,  but  confined  my  remaining  energies  in  the  bath-room 
to  opening  the  window.  I  think  the  explosion  deranged 
something  inside  my  skull,  unless  that  is  connected  with 
getting  wet.  However,  one  or  other  probably  explains 
my  flippancy. 

To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

HOLGATES  HOTEL,  ST.  MARY'S, 
ISLES  OF  SCILLY. 

30  March,  1913. 

I  have  had  a  very  pleasant  time  here.  I  have  read  a 
good  deal — Fisher's  "  Napoleon,"  France's  "  Sur  la  Pierre 
Blanche,"  the  whole  of  Havelock  Ellis  on  "  Sex  and 
Society,"  a  lot  of  Dilke's  "  Greater  Britain "  about 
Australia,  and  some  other  things. 

I  have  walked  all  round  and  about  this  island.  The 
weather  was  bad  yesterday — rain  and  much  wind — but  has 
been  good  otherwise.  The  views  here  are  absolutely  unique 
— at  least,  as  far  as  I  know.  There  may  be  something  like 
them  in  the  Mediterranean,  but  I  shouldn't  think  there  is 
anywhere  else  around  the  coasts  of  this  country.  The 
sight  of  a  score  or  more  of  islands  and  rocks  standing  out 
of  the  water  in  the  sunshine,  as  seen  from  the  top  of  a  hill 
or  headland  on  one  of  the  islands,  is  wonderful. 

This  afternoon  I  organized  a  party  of  seven  people  in 
this  hotel  to  hire  a  sailing-boat.  We  dropped  one  man 
on  Tresco,  an  island  opposite  here,  and  the  rest  of  us  went 
on  to  Bryker,  which  lies  alongside  it.  I  walked  all  round 
this  island  while  the  other  five  had  tea,  and  also  got  some 
flowers,  which  I  will  send  you  if  I  can  get  a  box. 

I  have  a  room  overlooking  the  little  harbour ;  the  waves 


150  KEELING  LETTERS 

break  just  under  my  window,  and  there  are  generally  a  lot 
of  gulls  walking  or  rather  waddling  about  and  screaming. 
There  is  no  one  in  the  hotel  I  care  for  much.  There  is 
a  rather  rowdy  lot  of  Oxford  undergraduates  with  a  coach, 
who  spend  a  lot  of  money  and  generally  behave  in  the 
objectionable  manner  of  the  rich  young  man  from  that 
University.  The  nicest  fellow  amongst  them,  however, 
is  a  peer — Lord  -  — .  He  is  extraordinarily  handsome 
and  has  no  swaggering  manner.  He  also  seems  to  do  more 
work  than  the  rest  of  them.  There  is  also  a  cinematograph 
photographer  here,  taking  views  of  the  island,  and  a 
Secondary  School-master,  who  started  life  as  a  half-timer 
in  a  Leicestershire  hosiery  factory  and  got  scholarships  to 
a  Secondary  School  and  Cambridge.  He  really  is  the  objec- 
tionable Nonconformist  type.  He  is  an  interesting  contrast 
with  the  Oxford  men.  Of  course  you  or  Sam  Butler  would 
adjudge  them  the  better  type  of  the  two.  But  I  am  not 
sure  which  is  really  the  better,  or  worse.  The  Oxford  men 
cost  a  good  deal  more.  I  admit  that  their  narrownesses 
are  on  the  whole  less  narrow  than  his.  But  we  want  some- 
thing different  from  either.  I  have  aimed  at  that  something, 
and  I  think  on  the  whole  I  have  failed  to  produce  anything 
of  real  value  in  the  way  of  an  experiment  in  life — at  least, 
anything  of  value  to  the  world.  I  have  taught  myself 
something  and  I  may  yet  produce  something  for  the  world. 
I  was  twenty-seven  a  couple  of  days  ago.  Looking  back 
on  life,  I  see  that  it  isn't  much  wonder  that  I  have  done  so 
little.  There  are  not  many  men  who  have  spent  so  much 
energy  in  testing  rules  of  conduct.  And  I  can  see  now— 
it  takes  a  lot  of  energy.  Is  it  worth  it  ?  It  would  be  a 
great  deal  more  certain  that  it  was  worth  it  if  I  had  a  bit 
more  common  sense  than  I  have.  I  have  tried  so  many 
things  that  a  wiser  man  would  have  seen  were  not  worth 
trying.  However,  all  I  care  about  now  is  finishing  in  the 
next  two  or  three  months  the  bits  of  work  I  set  myself 
six  months  ago.  I  have  a  horror  and  dread  of  any  more 
uncompleted  work,  and  till  I  see  those  Employment  of 
Children,  Certifying  Surgeons,  and  Casual  Labour  things 
in  print  I  shall  feel  too  conscious  of  my  many  snapped- off 
aspirations  to  be  happy  or  peaceful.  If  I  can  do  these 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  151 

little  things,  I  can  do  bigger  things  in  the  same  and 
other  spheres.  If  I  can't,  my  only  value  is  that  of  an 
exceedingly  dubious  kind  of  moral  anarchist. 

I  liked  Havelock  Ellis's  book  immensely.  I  read  all  of 
it  in  a  couple  of  days.  There  is  an  immense  amount  of 
wisdom  in  it.  I  wish  I  had  read  it  six  or  seven  years  ago. 
But  I  expect  I  could  not  have  absorbed  it. 

If  I  can  get  my  work  finished  by  or  before  the  end  of 
June,  I  shall  be  off  to  America  for  the  summer  harvesting. 
If  I  don't  get  on  to  this  jaunt  soon  I  never  shall.  I  expect 
I  shall  come  back  in  a  few  months — in  the  autumn.  But  I 
don't  want  you  to  talk  about  this  to  any  one.  I  don't  want 
to  be  bothered  to  talk  to  any  one  except  you  about  myself 
and  my  doings  in  the  next  three  months.  I  have  got  my 
health  and  comparative  peace  of  mind  back,  and  care  for 
nothing  but  using  it  to  the  world's  and  my  own  advantage. 
And  for  once  and  for  a  short  time  there  is  not  much  doubt 
as  to  the  identity  and  form  of  those  advantages. 

As  soon  as  I  get  back  from  America  I  am  going  to  finish 
being  called  to  the  Bar — another  broken  strand  picked  up. 

This  will  be  useful  from  a  practical  point  of  view,  and 
will  also  give  me  the  knowledge  of  law  which  I  need  for  my 
sort  of  sociological  work.  When  I  have  done  that  I  shall 
be  in  a  position  to  try  a  number  of  different  lines  of  work. 
But  I  hanker  after  a  biggish  bit  of  writing  on  the  history  of 
Labour  legislation  in  England.  I  keep  picking  up  odds 
and  ends  about  it  and  storing  them  away. 

Dilke  on  Australia  in  the  sixties  is  interesting,  though 
not  very  profound.  But  he  gives  me  a  good  idea  of  the 
place.  It  interests  me  much.  There  is  no  doubt  to  my 
mind  that  English  democratic  progress  will  be  along  their 
lines.  Everything  points  in  that  direction,  and  only  a  few 
Millenniumites  will  object — besides  the  vested  interests. 
I  am  inclined  to  think  that  Australia  has  been  fortunate  in 
not  having  too  much  conscious  Socialism  among  her  Labour 
Parties  in  actual  politics.  I  care  less  and  less  about  the 
shibboleths  of  Socialism,  and  I  think  I  like  the  Socialist 
element  in  the  Labour  Movement  (except  for  a  very  small 
number  of  intellectuals)  less  than  the  other  parts  of  it. 


152  KEELING  LETTERS 

All  we  want  is  an  infinite  willingness  to  use  the  State  or  the 
municipality,  or  associations  of  any  kind,  for  any  practical 
ends  in  the  direction  of  increasing  the  security,  wealth, 
and  civilization  of  the  masses  and  improving  the  position 
of  women.  I  doubt  whether  conscious  Socialism  and 
the  preaching  of  it  help  that  any  more  now — though  they 
may  have  done  in  the  past.  The  number  of  conscious 
Socialists  has  probably,  as  far  as  one  can  see,  ceased  to 
increase,  though  what  one  may  call  the  Socialist  point  of 
view  is,  I  should  say,  being  accepted  more  and  more  generally. 
Probably  a  much  greater  increase  of  conscious  Socialism 
would  not  really  help  practical  Socialist  methods.  It 
would  tend  to  throw  up  more  dogmatists  to  the  front — 
and  they  are  a  pernicious  race  on  the  whole,  when  it  comes 
to  practice. 

In  some  ways  I  find  myself  more  interested  than  I  have 
ever  been  before  in  the  problem  of  changing  the  soul  of 
man — just  because  I  never  realized  so  much  before  how 
difficult  it  is.  I  remember  Shaw  once  saying  that  the 
ordinary  enlightened  young  man  began  by  revolting  against 
his  family  and  general  environment,  but  that  he  only  began 
to  be  of  use  when  he  was  able  to  go  and  live  with  them  in 
peace  and  feel  "  after  all  we  are  men  "  (those  were  Shaw's 
words),  and  that  is  more  important  than  these  squabbles — 
or  something  to  that  effect.  Well,  I  have  reached  that 
stage.  Only  I  shan't  go  back  to  my  family,  because  it 
(or  rather  R.)  isn't  the  sort  of  thing  you  revolt  against 
because  of  your  revolutionism.  If — which  might  well 
have  happened — I  had  married  the  ordinary  type  of  woman 
and  then  bust  things  up,  I  should  at  this  moment  be 
recruiting  my  health  and  regaining  my  peace  of  mind  along 
with  Bernard  and  Joan.  But  my  family  unfortunately 
represents  my  first  revolutionary  phase.  I  can't  get  back 
to  the  normal  human  ties  through  it.  On  the  contrary, 
it  will  perhaps  bar  me  out  of  them  for  ever,  which  I  can't 
help  regretting,  because,  as  I  say,  I  have  begun  to  be 
interested  in  the  transformation  of  the  soul  of  man — and 
you  can't  transform  or  study  transformation  while  you  live 
in  a  different  way,  with  different  habits,  from  the  great 
mass  of  your  fellow-men.  I  am  not  growing  conservative. 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  153 

I  am  less  so  than  I  ever  was.  But  I  want  to  see  the  new 
grow  out  of  the  old,  and  do  what  little  I  can  to  help  it  in 
the  thirty  years  or  so  of  strength  that  I  may  reasonably 
expect.  Isolation  is  no  use  for  that. 

Now  I  must  stop  for  dinner,  which  I  need  after  the  sail 
and  tramp.  Good-bye.  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you 
and  the  children  again. 

To  Miss  C.  Townshend. 

LINCOLN'S  INN. 

f5  April,  1913. 

...  I  should  like  to  find  time  to  write  my  "  Case  for 
Judas  Iscariot,"  with  an  autobiographical  tinge  in  it.  You 
might  let  me  have  my  Renan  back,  which  I  lent  you.  .  .  . 

I  have  just  been  to  see  the  children  at  Eva's.  Bernard 
has  grown  enormously  and  is  much  more  like  Joan.  He 
too  amuses  himself  very  independently,  and  would  take 
no  notice  of  Diana's  persistent  approaches.  .  .  .  Joan  talks 
incessantly,  but  with  a  seriousness  that  is  most  admirable. 
Children  are  more  serious  about  what  they  do  than  most 
adults  are  about  what  they  do.  Play  is  and  should  be 
serious  for  children.  Playing  playfully  is  an  acquired  adult 
habit,  and  I  am  not  certain  whether  it  is  not  a  vicious  one. 
Play  is  children's  work,  and,  after  all,  involves  less  make- 
believe  than  most  adult  work. 

To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

21  LINCOLN'S  INN. 

13  April,  1913. 

I  have  been  busy  with  work  and  other  things  since  I  left 
you.  I  got  a  good  chunk  of  the  Employment  of  Children 
Report  written  last  week.  I  really  have  dug  up  a  lot  of  stuff 
which  will  be  of  permanent  use  to  people  who  are  studying 
the  development  of  State  interference  with  industry  in  the 
nineteenth  century,  and  I  have  taught  myself  a  good  deal 
about  local  legislative  procedure  and  other  things.  How 
much  more  solid  a  grasp  one  gets  of  things  by  having  to 
find  them  out  as  one  goes  along  in  order  to  explain  phenomena 
one  is  investigating — instead  of  taking  them  from  text- 
books. I  think  I  am  curing  myself  of  the  habit  of  delving 


154  KEELING  LETTERS 

and  re-delving  in  details  ad  infinitum.  That  also  one  has 
to  learn  from  experience.  I  have  finished  most  of  a  "  His- 
torical Summary  of  the  Development  of  Child  Labour 
Regulations,"  which  brings  together  all  the  multifarious 
attempts  to  deal  with  the  thing  outside  the  Factory  Acts. 
It  begins  with  Jonas  Hanway  and  the  wretched  little  boy 
chimney-sweeps  in  1770  and  ends  with  our  latest  manipu- 
lations to  circumvent  the  newspaper  proprietors  over 
Employment  of  Children  Bills.  I  was  reminded  of  the 
problem  in  the  concrete  on  Friday  night  by  a  wretched 
van-boy  who  brought  some  things  to  my  room  from  the 
Stores.  I  have  really  been  appalled  by  these  boys  when 
they  come  to  my  rooms — often  at  9  p.m.  They  all  look 
rotten  in  health,  tired  and  utterly  listless.  Of  course  they 
are  the  slum  boys  as  a  whole,  I  suppose — but  I  think  they 
are  worse  here  than  in  Leeds.  I  send  you  the  New  States- 
man, which  you  probably  are  not  getting  through  other 
sources.  The  absence  of  crescendo  cavil  and  Alleluias 
pleases  me.  In  fact,  I  think  it  is  very  good.  .  .  . 


To  Miss  C.  Townshend. 

LINCOLN'S  INN. 

April,  1913. 

I  have  just  been  reading  a  most  remarkable  book  by 
Bury  on  the  "  History  of  Freedom  of  Thought."  It  is 
a  tough  counterblast  to  James,  Bergson,  and  the  crop  of 
anti-rationalist  Schwdrmeyci  from  Theosophy  to  (without 
any  offence)  Syndicalism.  It  has  stirred  me  up  a  good 
deal.  I  have  tacitly  come  to  accept  the  position  since  I 
became  an  active  Socialist  that  one  is  entitled  to  help  on 
social  changes,  the  desirability  of  which  is  demonstrable 
to  any  one  with  intelligence  and  decent  feeling,  by  some 
sort  of  myth,  vague  visions  of  a  Socialist  State,  etc.,  which 
an  intelligent  man  cannot  accept  literally  any  more  than 
he  can  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis.  For  the  sake  of  im- 
mediate aims  we  accept  the  humbug  of  royalty,  avoid 
irritating  Christians  whose  beliefs  are  contemptible  intel- 
lectually and  pernicious  ethically,  stir  up  the  proletariat 
with  "  myths  "  that  we  don't  believe,  and  act  in  matters 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  155 

of  sexual  morality  with  deliberate  double-facedness.  Now, 
all  this  may  be  necessary,  it  may  even  be  defensible  ethically 
and  in  accordance  with  some  tolerable  standard  of  conduct, 
but  I  feel  I  want  to  think  over  my  whole  position.  My 
enthusiasm  for  social  change  becomes  more  deep-rooted 
the  more  I  get  to  think  (as  I  do  increasingly)  in  terms  of 
men  as  they  are  and  of  life  as  it  is,  in  so  far  as  one  can 
form  any  impression  from  the  facts  of  daily  life  as  seen  from 
a  good  many  different  corners  over  a  few  years.  .  .  .  But 
I  want  to  be  quite  clear  that  all  this  lying  about  religion, 
morality,  and  sociology  is  really  necessary  before  I  go  on 
with  it.  I  daresay  it  is,  but  unless  I  am  convinced  about  it, 
I  will  not  go  on.  I  shall  always  be  deficient  in  discretion, 
but  I  have  enough  courage  to  face  any  moral  or  practical 
issue  in  life  that  I  have  ever  thought  of,  so  long  as  I  am  not 
hampered  by  muddle-headedness. 

To  Mrs.  Towns/tend. 

21,  OLD  BUILDINGS, 

LINCOLN'S  INN,  LONDON,  W.C. 

Sunday,  25  May,   1913,   noon. 

I  was  at  Colchester  most  of  yesterday  and  stopped  the 
night  with  Mrs.  Green.  I  saw  a  lot  of  people.  I  feel 
much  more  in  sympathy  with  the  people  I  knew  as  a  boy 
there  than  I  have  ever  done  in  my  life  before.  The  habit 
of  wrangling  over  formulae  is  a  miserable  divider  of  mankind. 
Of  course  I  do  differ  from  them  in  my  outlook.  But  then, 
they  haven't  got  a  definitely  formulated  outlook  at  all. 
They  have  many  vague  (and  some  bad)  prejudices- 
emotions  of  fear,  spite,  or  jealousy  linked  on  to  some 
religious  or  political  catchword.  But  how  much  is  all 
that  mental  equipment  going  to  be  changed  by  argument 
and  preaching  ?  To  some  extent  it  will  be  and  should  be. 
But  on  the  whole  changes  will  be  more  subtle. 

I  am  sure  I  can  trace  a  change  in  the  social  outlook  of 
the  ordinary  middle-class  business  people  in  the  place  from 
ten  years  ago.  It  is  a  little  more  human  and  sympathetic. 
There  is  less  hostility  to  change  as  such,  and  here  and  there 
a  slight  and  partial  consciousness  of  the  meaning  of  life 
on  a  pound  a  week. 


156  KEELING  LETTERS 

I  had  a  long  intimate  talk  with  Mrs.  Green,  and  also  with 
my  former  guardian's  brother — a  curious  mystical  sort  of 
person.  I  was  inside  seven  different  houses  yesterday. 
It  was  strange  to  see  my  contemporaries  all  getting  married 
or  with  young  babies.  Altogether  a  vision  of  life.  I 
think  I  shall  repeat  my  visits  there.  It  depressed  me  at 
times,  but  on  the  whole  I  feel  it  is  all  interesting  experience, 
and  one  has — or  at  any  rate  I  have — got  to  get  a  modus 
vivendi  based  on  life  as  it  is  for  the  world  in  general.  I 
crave  above  all  things  to  make  myself  a  part  of  the  "  social 
organism  "—or  whatever  one  likes  to  call  it — as  it  is.  I 
don't  want  to  be  an  abnormal  Bohemian  rebel  all  my  life — 
I  have  had  enough  of  that.  The  experience  I  have  had  has 
given  me  the  necessary  sense  of  contrasts  which  enables 
me  to  see  the  scheme  of  things  as  it  is.  Now  I  want  to 
use  the  tools.  Forging  them  is  not  an  end  in  itself. 

Reading  Webb  on  local  government  fits  in  with  all  this 
philosophic  conservatism.  What  a  wonderful  nation  of 
conservatives  we  are  ! — the  Romans  of  modern  times  more 
than  any  other  people,  I  suppose. 

To  the  Same. 

LINCOLN'S  INN. 

23  July,  1913- 

iiOoc  avOpio-m,)  Saifuov !  I  haven't  got  rid  of  that 
vision  of  fate  and  character  ever  since  I  saw  it  at  the  head 
of  Galsworthy's  book.  What  a  grating  of  jagged  masses 
there  is  in  life  !  I  see  no  reality  in  metaphors  of  harmony. 
How  Shakespeare  throws  a  glare  on  realities  in  Angelo  in 
"  Measure  for  Measure,"  which  I  read  the  other  day.  It  is 
not  the  moral  issue  which  matters,  though  I  daresay  Shake- 
speare had  that  consciously  in  mind  when  he  wrote  the 
play,  but  the  march  of  a  human  soul  from  one  driving 
impulse  to  another. 

The  projected  visit  to  America  never  took  place.  He  went 
abroad  in  August  for  a  few  weeks  to  Germany  and  Italy,  and  then 
along  the  Dalmatian  coast.  The  two  next  letters  and  the  two 
articles  from  the  New  Statesman  give  some  account  of  his  experiences 
during  this  trip.  — E.  T. 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  157 

To  the  Same. 

August,  1913. 

I  am  leaving  in  an  hour  or  so  for  Zara,  the  first  stopping- 
place  on  the  Dalmatian  coast.  Had  a  very  pleasant  trip 
from  Venice  last  night,  arriving  here  at  6  a.m.  I  enjoyed 
Venice  very  much  for  a  day  ;  but  I  shouldn't  care  to  spend 
much  time  there.  I  never  saw  a  place  where  life  seemed 
to  centre  so  much  round  a  dead  past,  and  where  the  essentials 
of  the  present  were  so  depressing.  There  seemed  to  be 
more  cadging  and  tip-seeking  than  in  any  other  town  I 
have  ever  been  to.  Every  one  seemed  to  be  living  on 
odd  jobs  performed  for  tourists.  It  also  rather  got  on  my 
nerves  that  it  was  presumed  that  you  wanted  to  be  carried 
everywhere ;  my  instinctive  distaste  to  hiring  private 
conveyances  would  have  developed  into  a  mania  in  con- 
nection with  gondolas. 

A  good  bust  of  Daniel  Manin  and  a  couple  of  inscriptions 
in  the  Doge's  Palace  about  the  '49  siege  and  the  '66  plebiscite 
cheered  me  up  more  than  anything  else.  I  sympathize 
with  Morris's  feelings  about  Italy.  I  detest  the  Catholic 
atmosphere  more  and  more,  and  for  a  mythology  I  would 
rather  go  to  the  old  Norse  stories  and  the  Norse  and  German 
atmosphere  generally.  If  I  knew  the  Classics  better,  I 
daresay  I  should  be  more  attracted  by  Italy.  It  is  mediaeval 
Italy,  not  pagan  Rome,  I  feel  utterly  out  of  sympathy  with. 
(I  believe  Morris  disliked  the  whole  Roman  spirit,  but  I 
think  it  was  Christianity  which  really  led  men  astray.)  I 
thought  of  an  amusing  idea  the  other  day.  Christianity 
always  prides  itself  on  its  connection  with  the  emancipation 
of  slaves  ;  it  was  a  religion  of  slaves  to  a  large  extent. 
Just  as  the  irruption  of  slaves  into  social  life  was  accom- 
panied by  one  form  of  nauseous  emotionalism,  so  the 
feminism  of  to-day  appears  along  with  all  the  re-emergence 
of  superstition  and  Orientalism  which  is  going  on  now. 
The  sight  of  women  in  these  Catholic  churches  before 
hideous  images  of  virgins  simply  makes  me  feel  sick. 
To  explain  the  phenomenon  is  not  to  excuse  it. 

I  had  a  splendid  bathe  on  the  Lido.  I  shall  get  to  Zara 
this  evening  and  should  be  in  Cattaro  by  Friday.  I  am 


158  KEELING  LETTERS 

glad  to  be  getting  amongst  young  peoples  who  have  an 
important  history,  but  not  one  that  absorbs  their  present. 
I  have  read  several  books  on  the  Balkans  in  the  last  few 
weeks  and  am  very  keen  to  see  what  a  lot  of  things  are  like. 

To  the  Same. 

CATTARO.    31  August,  1913. 

I  arrived  here  an  hour  ago  by  boat  from  Ragusa.  The 
place  is  right  at  the  end  of  a  deep  bay  surrounded  by  high 
mountains,  the  Montenegrin  frontier  being  only  a  mile 
or  so  away.  It  is  really  about  the  best  situated  place  I 
have  struck.  Am  probably  going  on  to  Cettinje  to-morrow 
and  shall  spend  about  a  week  visiting  various  parts  of 
Montenegro.  I  have  given  up  the  idea  of  going  to  Sarajevo 
and  Bosnia,  as  it  means  rather  long  and  expensive  railway 
journeys.  I  have  seen  something  of  Herzegovina  at 
Mostar  and  the  surrounding  country,  and  shall  probably 
just  get  a  glimpse  of  Albania  by  going  to  Scutari  via  the 
lake,  which  is  said  to  be  as  fine  as  the  best  Swiss  lakes.  I 
shall  come  back  direct  from  here  to  Trieste  by  boat,  as  it 
is  by  far  the  most  pleasant  way  of  travelling.  I  shall  then 
probably  spend  two  or  three  days  in  some  cool  place  in  the 
Tirol  or  Bavarian  highlands  before  coming  home  via  Munich. 

The  heat  was  bad  at  Mostar  and  up  in  the  hills  above 
Spalato,  where  I  did  a  short  walk,  but  it  is  not  at  all  bad 
here. 

These  Italian-Slav  cities  along  the  coast  are  wonderful 
places.  I  am  much  interested  in  the  Southern  Slav  question, 
and  continue  to  devour  pamphlets  and  books  about  it  which 
I  get  at  the  bookshops,  and  I  am  trying  to  learn  a  little 
Serbian. 

The  road  from  here  to  Cettinje  is  one  of  the  finest  in 
Europe  ;  it  goes  over  an  enormous  mountain.  There  is  an 
automobile  service,  but  I  expect  I  shall  walk  the  thirty  miles. 
There  will  be  magnificent  views  of  the  Bocche  di  Cattaro, 
the  system  of  bays  and  inlets  which  I  have  come  up. 

I  don't  wonder  that  the  Austrians  cling  fast  to  this  spot 
and  have  surrounded  it  with  forts,  though  of  course  it  is 
very  bad  luck  on  the  Montenegrins  that  they  should  be 
cut  off  from  what  is  their  natural  outlet  to  the  sea. 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  159 

Ragusa  was  immensely  interesting.  It  was  an  inde- 
pendent republic  till  Napoleon  took  it  about  1808  and 
announced  that  it  had  "  ceased  to  exist."  It  always  kept 
itself  free  from  Venice  (unlike  all  the  other  cities)  by  siding 
with  and  paying  a  tribute  to  the  Turks,  who  were  quite 
satisfied  to  leave  it  alone.  Its  culture  was  a  mixture  of 
Slav  and  Italian ;  both  languages  were  and  are  used  and 
one  of  the  most  famous  poets  wrote  in  both.  The  different 
writers  give  different  accounts  as  to  the  predominance  of 
one  or  the  other,  according  to  their  bias.  For  instance, 
Jackson,  the  Oxford  architect,  who  is  an  anti-Slav,  says 
that  everything  important  was  Italian,  but  Arthur  Evans 
gives  a  much  more  favourable  account  of  the  Slav  element. 
The  Slavs  are  mostly  Catholics  down  to  about  Ragusa, 
but  the  Orthodox  Church  begins  to  be  more  important  here. 

Mostar  is  more  than  half  Mohammedan,  and  the  bazaar 
is  as  Oriental  as  anything  you  could  see  in  Asia.  The 
people  are  of  almost  pure  Slav  blood,  but  you  see  an 
obviously  Turkish  nose  pretty  often. 


SCUTARI   UNDER  THE   INTERNATIONAL 
COMMISSION  * 

BY  F.  H.   K. 

The  most  prominent  feature  of  Scutari  is  the  grey 
ruined  wall  of  the  citadel  on  an  isolated  hill  above  the 
quay.  From  here  a  view  can  be  obtained  across  the  lake 
and  over  the  whole  plain  which  surrounds  the  town. 

North-west,  beyond  the  lake,  lies  the  line  of  Montenegrin 
mountains.  The  nearest  hill  in  this  direction  is  Tarabosch, 
just  across  the  river,  the  strategical  key  to  Scutari,  and 
the  scene  of  the  greatest  of  the  battles  between  the  Mon- 
tenegrins and  Turks.  South-west  is  the  course  of  the 
wide  Boyana,  connecting  the  lake  with  the  sea.  It  is 
even  now  in  the  dry  season  navigable  for  small  flat- 
bottomed  steamers.  At  its  mouth  a  stretch  of  the  sea  is 
visible  with  the  naked  eye,  some  twelve  miles  away.  The 
1  From  the  New  Statesman,  27  September,  I9I3- 


160  KEELING  LETTERS 

international  fleet  is  lying  here,  and  messages  are  flashed 
by  day  and  night  between  the  British  cruiser  Gloucester 
and  the  detachments  of  the  West  Yorkshire  Regiment 
from  Malta  and  of  Austrian  troops,  which  share  the 
citadel  between  them.  To  the  south  lies  a  fertile  district, 
watered  by  tributaries  of  the  Boyana,  and  bounded  by 
distant  hills.  Immediately  at  the  foot  of  the  citadel  to 
the  north-east  is  the  bazaar,  where  a  considerable  number 
of  burnt  houses  testify  to  the  recent  siege  and  Montene- 
grin occupation.  A  mile  of  very  bad  road  separates  the 
bazaar  from  the  main  portion  of  the  town.  Three  or  four 
miles  beyond  this  rise  the  north  Albanian  mountains. 

About  a  third  of  the  population  of  Scutari  is  Catholic. 
There  is  a  large  cathedral,  which  was  very  badly  damaged 
by  shells  during  the  late  siege,  and  also  an  Orthodox  church. 
But  the  whole  aspect  of  the  town  is  Oriental  and  Moham- 
medan. The  costumes  which  may  be  seen  in  the  streets 
are  of  many  distinct  types.  The  Albanian  kilt  is  not  very 
much  in  evidence.  More  common  are  the  close-fitting 
white  trousers  streaked  with  one  or  two  black  stripes  and 
reminiscent  of  the  Venetian  costumes  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  as  represented  in  Carpaccio's  pictures.  The  chief 
feature  of  the  festival  on  the  days  following  the  close  of 
the  fast  of  Ramazan  was  the  beautiful  costumes  of  the 
children.  All  the  cafes  in  the  town,  which  probably  do 
not  exceed  a  dozen,  were  filled  with  crowds  of  excited  boys 
and  girls,  clothed  in  bright,  baggy  breeches  of  every  hue, 
who  were  celebrating  the  event  by  being  driven  up  and 
down  the  main  streets.  The  scene  suggested  a  sort  of 
Mohammedan  Sunday-school  treat.  The  architecture  of 
the  town  is  as  Oriental  as  the  costumes.  Few  of  the  shops 
even  aim  at  presenting  a  European  appearance.  Jewellers, 
tinsmiths,  coppersmiths,  tailors,  bootmakers,  bakers,  and 
even  a  printer,  all  ply  their  crafts  in  workshops  wholly  open 
to  the  street.  Taking  one  craft  with  another,  there  must 
be  a  not  inconsiderable  amount  of  productive  as  well  as 
of  distributive  industry  in  the  town. 

The  authority  of  the  International  Commission  is  indi- 
cated by  the  flags  of  the  five  nations  (Russia  being  only 
indirectly  represented  by  France),  which  float  side  by  side 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  161 

over  the  citadel.  The  force  at  the  disposal  of  the  Com- 
mission now  consists  mainly  of  soldiers,  who  have  replaced 
the  naval  detachments.  England  is  represented  by  some 
four  hundred  officers  and  men  of  the  West  Yorkshire 
Regiment,  who  were  sent  from  Malta.  The  town  is  divided 
into  sections,  which  are  assigned  to  the  different  nations 
for  patrol  work.  All  the  streets  have  been  given  Western 
European  names,  being  in  most  cases  called  after  the  war- 
ships of  the  fleet  of  the  five  nations — Rue  Gazelle,  Rue 
Antelope,  Rue  Weymouth,  Rue  Warrior,  Rue  Breslau, 
Rue  Dante.  The  principal  sphere  of  activity  of  the  English 
soldier  is  in  the  streets  of  the  bazaar,  which  is  gradually 
recovering  from  the  alleged  depredations  and  arson  of  the 
Montenegrins.  Here  the  Leeds  "  Tommy  "  may  be  seen 
mildly  ordering  small  Albanian  children  to  move  on,  after 
he  has  been  enduring  a  game  of  hide  and  seek  round  his 
legs  for  some  considerable  time.  But  the  serious  business 
of  the  soldier-policeman  is  more  exacting.  No  one  is 
allowed  to  carry  arms  within  the  town,  except  by  special 
permit.  But  Albanians  and  Montenegrins  are  in  the  habit 
of  carrying  pistols  and  rifles  everywhere.  The  disarming 
of  persons  entering  the  town,  or  illegally  keeping  pistols, 
is  accordingly  the  most  conspicuous  feature  of  the  police 
work  of  the  force  of  the  Commission.  In  one  case  this 
has  led  to  a  raid  being  made  upon  a  house  where  it  was 
believed  that  a  number  of  pistols  were  kept.  The  Albanian 
occupants  fired  upon  the  raiders,  and  two  English  soldiers 
replied.  Two  of  the  Albanians  were  wounded,  one  of 
whom  subsequently  died.  The  others  received  severe 
sentences  of  imprisonment.  The  rank  and  file  of  the  English 
soldiers  are  inclined  to  regard  it  as  a  considerable  grievance 
that  the  somewhat  tiresome  and  dangerous  police  work  on 
which  they  are  engaged  is  not  regarded  as  active  service, 
and  as  entitling  them  to  pay  at  active  service  rates.  Most 
of  them  seem  to  be  anxious  to  be  back  at  Malta,  although 
they  do  not  expect  to  return  for  some  months. 

The  authority  of  the  International  Commission  only 
extends  within  a  radius  of  ten  kilometres  around  Scutari. 
Thus  a  fugitive  from  justice  has  not  far  to  go  to  escape  from 
the  control  of  the  authorities.  In  the  Albanian  mountains 

12 


162  KEELING  LETTERS 

government  has  always  been  a  somewhat  shadowy  institu- 
tion, and  at  the  present  moment  in  the  north  it  is  certainly 
altogether  non-existent.  I  have  visited  a  few  of  the  villages 
east  of  Scutari.  The  first  feature  which  forces  itself  on  one's 
attention  is  the  extraordinary  completeness  of  the  devasta- 
tion wrought  by  the  Montenegrin  and  Serbian  troops. 
Scarcely  a  single  house  in  the  villages  which  I  saw  was 
undamaged,  and  in  most  of  them  the  roofs  were  completely 
destroyed.  The  mosque  of  the  collection  of  hamlets  known 
as  DriSt,  some  five  miles  east  of  Scutari,  was  in  ruins,  and  on 
the  walls  were  scrawled  a  number  of  words  which  I  took 
to  be  the  insults  of  Montenegrin  invaders.  I  confess  that  I 
did  not  stop  to  endeavour  to  decipher  these  with  the  aid 
of  my  scanty  knowledge  of  Serb,  because  I  found  the  cease- 
less fusillade  which  was  taking  place  from  several  quarters 
in  the  surrounding  mountains  somewhat  nerve-racking. 
I  was  assured  by  an  Albanian  villager  that  it  was  nothing 
but  rifle  practice,  and  no  doubt  this  was  the  case.  But  when 
the  sharp  whistle  of  the  bullets,  as  well  as  the  crack  of  the 
rifles,  became  audible,  it  seemed  time  for  a  solitary  stranger 
to  retire.  One  could  not  help  speculating  as  to  the  source 
of  supply  of  ammunition  to  which  the  Albanians  have 
access.  There  is  undoubtedly  terrible  suffering  and  desti- 
tution in  the  district  around  Scutari  as  the  result  of  the  war. 
But  the  consumption  of  cartridges  which  I  heard  dis- 
charged in  the  course  of  a  single  day  must  have  represented 
the  value  of  not  a  little  bread  or  seed-corn. 

One  is  glad  to  see  that  during  the  international  occupation 
of  Scutari  government  is  not  confined  to  purely  police 
activities,  necessary  and  valuable  as  these  are  in  the  present 
unsettled  condition  of  affairs.  Attention  is  being  paid  to 
public  health  and  sanitary  matters.  The  position  of 
Scutari  near  the  lake  is  none  too  healthy,  and  the  siege 
naturally  made  matters  a  good  deal  worse.  A  section  of 
the  British  troops  suffered  considerably  from  malaria  while 
it  was  encamped  on  the  meadows  between  the  town  and 
the  lake.  The  authorities  are  now  providing  hospital 
treatment  for  natives  as  well  as  for  their  own  troops.  A 
new  road  is  being  made  to  replace  the  existing  abominable 
track  which  connects  the  town  with  the  bazaar  and  harbour. 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  163 

The  daily  performances  of  the  military  bands  are  a  great 
source  of  delight  to  the  inhabitants,  and  to  hear  the  Italian 
band  is  certainly  a  musical  education.  The  British  band  is 
— British.  I  last  heard  it  strenuously  engaged  in  drowning 
the  beautiful  sound  of  the  Muezzin  calling  to  prayer  from 
a  neighbouring  minaret. 

The  fact  is  not  lost  sight  of  that  the  Albanians  are  supposed 
to  be  about  to  govern  themselves  hi  the  near  future,  and 
therefore  require  some  training  in  the  art  of  civilized  adminis- 
tration. An  Albanian  gendarmerie  has  already  been  formed, 
and  is  working  in  co-operation  with  the  European  troops ; 
while  an  Albanian  officer  deals  with  the  examination  of 
luggage  at  the  Customs  House.  How  soon  an  Albanian 
government  will  really  be  in  working  order  it  is  difficult  to 
guess.  Every  one  seems  to  expect  serious  trouble  in  connec- 
tion with  the  delimitation  of  the  Montenegrin  frontier,  and 
such  has  indeed  already  commenced  in  the  districts  to  the 
east  of  the  lake,  which  the  Montenegrins  expect  to  acquire. 
It  should  not  be  forgotten  that,  some  thirty  years  ago,  an 
"  Albanian  League  "  successfully  resisted  the  attempt  to 
transfer  the  districts  of  Plava  and  Gusinje  to  Montenegro 
in  accordance  with  the  Treaty  of  Berlin,  and  the  memory  of 
that  incident  is  still  fresh.  But,  even  apart  from  the  frontier 
question,  the  difficulties  of  the  future  government  of  Albania 
are  great  enough.  There  are  not  a  few  Albanians — perhaps 
more  than  English  observers  are  willing  to  admit — who  are 
inclined  to  lean  upon  Austria  and  look  to  an  extension  of 
her  influence  to  help  them  through  their  difficulties.  It 
may  be  that  Austria  has  used  questionable  means,  ecclesi- 
astical and  otherwise,  to  extend  her  influence.  But  even 
Serbian  pamphleteers  such  as  the  vehement  patriot  who 
uses  the  pseudonym  "  Balkanicus "  recognize  that  the 
influence  is  there.  It  is  certain  that  both  Austrians  and 
Germans  have  fully  made  up  their  minds  that  the  Albanians 
are  to  be  regarded  as  a  counterpoise  against  the  nine  million 
Southern  Slavs,  who  are  regarded  as  threatening  Dcutsch- 
tum,  both  from  within  and  from  without  the  Austrian 
Empire.  The  future  of  Albania  is,  indeed,  difficult  to  fore- 
see. I  discussed  the  question  with  a  number  of  Albanian 
workmen  who  were  returning  to  Scutari  after  a  day's  work. 


164  KEELING  LETTERS 

Some  of  them  had  learnt  Italian  in  the  school  which  the 
Italians  have  maintained  for  some  twelve  years  in  Scutari. 
In  reply  to  the  question  from  which  country  they  would 
like  to  have  a  prince,  they  said  that  they  did  not  mind 
whence  the  prince  came  so  long  as  he  had  una  bella  patienza 
for  Albania.  What  an  exemplary  motto  for  princes  in 
Albania — and  elsewhere  ! 

A  MONTENEGRIN.-  JOURNEY  ' 

There  are  two  ways  of  embarking  from  Scutari  on  the 
steamer  which  monopolizes  the  navigation  of  the  lake. 
You  may  hire  a  flat-bottomed  boat  and  two  Albanians  to 
propel  it,  in  order  to  traverse  the  two  or  three  miles  of 
shallows  which  separate  the  steamer  from  the  quay.  But 
if  you  are  weary  of  the  detestable  process  of  bargaining, 
and  are  in  a  democratic  mood,  you  can  be  carried  free  with 
the  common  herd  in  a  boat  of  more  than  ordinary  size  and 
clumsiness.  I  chose  the  latter  course,  though  it  was  a 
Sunday  morning,  and  the  boat  was  packed  as  tight  as  could 
be  with  Albanian  and  Montenegrin  peasants  and  women. 
The  males  and  bolder  females  sat  balanced  on  the  edge 
of  the  boat,  while  a  promiscuous  collection  of  women 
and  luggage  covered  the  bottom.  Tobacco  was  a  welcome 
necessary,  as  a  means  of  modifying  a  profound  sense  of  the 
proximity  of  one's  fellow-men.  The  heat  became  more 
and  more  intolerable.  The  aristocrats,  with  privately 
hired  boats,  all  passed  us  before  we  had  gone  far,  and  their 
boatmen  made  sarcastic  comments  on  the  methods  of  pro- 
pulsion— inefficient  punting  alternating  with  even  less 
effective  paddling — employed  by  our  crew.  But  at  last 
we  reached  the  steamer.  There  was  just  room  enough 
for  most  of  us  to  lie  down  on  the  third-class  deck,  and  I 
soon  fell  asleep  cheek  by  jowl  with  an  old  Turk,  or  Albanian 
maybe.  I  only  awoke  when  we  reached  Plavnitza,  which 
is  the  nearest  port  to  Podgoritza,  the  commercial  capital 
of  Montenegro.  They  have  dredged  out  a  channel  here 
to  enable  the  steamer  to  reach  a  quay  which  is  in  course 
of  construction.  But  something  seems  to  have  gone  wrong 
1  From  the  New  Statesman,  6  December,  1913. 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  165 

with  the  foundations,  since  gaping  cracks  have  appeared 
in  the  cement,  which  is  held  together  by  a  temporary 
woodwork  structure ;  and  the  whole  quay  looks  as  if  it 
were  likely  to  disappear  before  it  is  completed.  How- 
ever, after  considerable  manoeuvring  on  the  part  of  the 
steamer,  a  large  crowd  of  Montenegrins  embarked  here 
in  order  to  be  taken  across  the  lake  to  Virpasar. 

This  is  the  terminus  of  the  Montenegrin  railway  system, 
and  most  of  the  rolling  stock  was  waiting  to  start  for 
Antivari  when  we  arrived.  I  deposited  my  belongings 
in  a  third-class  compartment,  but  changed  my  mind  when 
every  inch  of  space  became  occupied  with  my  fellow- 
passengers,  while  numbers  of  them  prepared  to  sit  on  the 
platforms  at  each  end  of  the  wagons.  I  thereupon  moved 
into  the  only  first-class  compartment  in  Montenegro, 
which  was  already  occupied  by  two  Austrian  officers. 
No  sooner  had  we  settled  down  than  a  pompous  gentleman 
in  Western  European  dress  entered,  and  informed  us  in 
French  that  we  must  leave  all  the  first-class  accommodation 
for  the  Prince  and  his  entourage.  It  was  intimated,  however, 
that  as  a  special  privilege  we  might  travel  in  the  neighbouring 
third-class  compartment  if  we  paid  the  first-class  fare. 
The  peasants  were  unceremoniously  cleared  out  of  this, 
but  I  entered  into  a  private  conspiracy  with  an  Italian 
and  a  Polish  commercial  traveller  that  we  would  not  pay 
first-class  fare,  even  if  we  had  to  set  the  whole  Montenegrin 
Government  at  defiance.  Before  long  the  arrival  of  the 
Prince  (the  King's  second  son)  was  heralded  by  the  entry 
into  our  compartment  of  an  escort  of  fifteen  typical  Mon- 
tenegrins. They  were  armed  to  the  teeth  with  rifles, 
revolvers,  and  enough  cartridges  to  fight  a  battle  with, 
and  were  clad  in  striking  red  uniforms,  designed  more  or 
less  on  the  lines  of  the  peasant  costume.  One  felt  that 
poverty-stricken  Montenegro  could  ill-afford  to  turn  fifteen 
honest  peasants  into  swaggering  bravoes,  dancing  atten- 
dance on  a  younger  member  of  the  royal  house.  How- 
ever, one  accepts  without  demur  the  equivalent  follies  in 
the  government  of  a  Great  Power.  Social  waste  is  always 
less  obvious  when  it  is  conducted  on  a  gigantic  scale. 

The  train  slowly  climbed  past  a  rich  valley  across  the 


166  KEELING  LETTERS 

mountains  which  separate  Lake  Scutari  from  the  sea. 
Near  the  summit  is  a  long  tunnel,  which  must  be  without 
exception  the  most  suffocating  in  Europe.  Even  the 
City  and  South  London  Railway  in  its  earliest  days  could 
hardly  have  provided  an  atmosphere  to  rival  that  of  the 
Montenegrin  tunnel.  The  experience  of  passing  through 
it  is  trying  to  the  temper,  and  it  was  not  strange  that  it 
precipitated  a  quarrel  between  some  Montenegrins  and 
Albanians  in  the  last  carriage.  When  the  train  was  taking 
a  rest  at  the  western  end  of  the  tunnel,  and  we  had  all 
alighted  in  order  to  breathe,  the  first  signs  of  the  trouble 
appeared  in  a  gesticulating  and  shouting  crowd.  However, 
we  started  again  without  much  ado,  and  it  was  not  till 
the  train  had  rattled  some  little  way  down  towards  the  sea 
that  I  suddenly  heard  a  shot  fired.  I  looked  out  just  in 
time  to  see  the  smoke  of  a  second  shot  floating  out  of  a 
window  in  the  rear  of  the  train.  The  escort,  smelling  powder, 
were  like  hounds  on  the  leash.  The  Italian  commercial 
was  terrified,  until  the  only  woman  in  the  compartment 
assured  him  that  there  was  no  danger.  The  Prince  called 
from  his  window,  the  train  was  stopped  by  the  guard,  and 
some  of  the  escort  ran  to  the  scene  of  the  disturbance. 
Two  men  in  succession  were  unceremoniously  hurried  up 
for  judgment  before  His  Royal  Highness.  The  first 
apparently  established  his  innocence.  The  second  seemed 
to  be  a  little  in  liquor.  He  declared  that  his  life  was  in 
danger,  as  he  was  in  a  carriage  full  of  Albanians.  Since 
every  one  carries  arms  in  these  parts,  no  doubt  he  thought 
that  he  could  not  assert  himself  sufficiently  without  letting 
his  revolver  off.  However,  no  one  was  hurt,  and  the 
Prince  contented  himself  with  confiscating  the  weapon. 
Its  owner  seized  the  opportunity  to  rush  to  the  Prince's 
window  and  make  a  speech  whenever  the  train  stopped. 
But  the  escort  dealt  with  him  firmly,  and  I  last  saw  him 
ventilating  his  wrongs  to  his  female  relations  in  Antivari. 
I  hope  they  comforted  him  tactfully.  Meanwhile  the 
Prince  was  taking  his  beer  in  front  of  the  hotel,  while  I 
swam  far  into  the  sea,  through  limpid  water  reddened 
with  the  setting  sun.  The  Italian  company  which  has 
leased  the  port  are  trying  hard  to  make  an  eyesore  of 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  167 

the  southern  cliffs  of  the  bay.  But  they  cannot  spoil 
the  magnificent  line  of  mountains  which  rises  behind  the 
northern  shore.  The  harbour  has  not  the  fiord-like  magni- 
ficence of  the  Bocche  de  Cattaro,  on  the  northern  frontier 
of  Montenegro,  which  Austria  holds  in  so  firm  a  grip.  But 
there  is  no  single  bay  along  the  Dalmatian  coast  more 
beautiful  than  that  of  Antivari.  It  is  at  least  a  single 
jewel,  adorning  the  narrow  stretch  of  coast  where  alone 
the  Serbian  race  has  free  access  to  the  sea. 

To  Mrs.  Towns/tend. 

LINCOLN'S  INN.  Sunday,  21  September,  1913. 
I  had  a  good  time  with  the  children  yesterday  evening. 
When  I  arrived  I  found  R—  -  in  the  middle  of  four  little 
children,  two  of  which  belonged  over  the  road.  It  was 
really  very  delightful.  It  was  a  great  joy  to  hug  Bernard 
again,  and  the  four  children  together  made  a  very  cheerful 
noise.  R —  really  is  angelic  with  them.  I  cannot 
imagine  any  one  putting  their  whole  energy  and  intelligence 
into  motherhood  more  than  she  does.  I  never  felt  more 
proud  of  having  her  as  the  mother  of  my  children.  She 
is  determined  to  get  the  substratum  of  life  right  for  them, 
whatever  may  happen  to  the  superstructure. 

You  live  in  your  children  just  as  I  do  in  mine,  though 
countless  ancestors  live  in  them  too.  It  conjures  up  a 
curious  sort  of  vision  of  human  unity.  One  almost  gets  a 
glimpse  round  the  other  side  of  selfhood. 

The  edges  of  my  personality  are  not  so  sharp  to-night 
either.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  ceasing  to  resist  the  pressure 
from  outside  and  were  throwing  out  myself  too.  I  generally 
hold  up  the  walls  stiffly.  It  is  a  strange  sense  of  relaxation, 
and  a  flowing  of  a  wide  sheet  of  water  over  a  boundary. 

Good  God  !  how  can  people  live  without  having  children  ? 
Still,  if  you  were  always  cooped  up  with  them  in  a  wretched 
working-class  tenement,  it  would  be  impossible  to  get  the 
best  out  of  them,  just  as  much  for  mother  as  for  father. 

R —  -  ought  to  have  some  more  children  to  look  after. 
I  shall  never  forget  her  with  those  four  kids  in  her  back 
room.  It  was  a  great  sight. 


168  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  the  Same. 

21,  OLD  BUILDINGS, 

LINCOLN'S  INN,  LONDON,  W.C. 
13  March,  1914. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  your  letter,  which  moved  me 
very  much.  I  never  looked  scornfully  on  your  general 
view  of  life.  I  only  found  it  hard  to  see  you  giving  your 
enthusiasm  to  the  support  of  a  political  creed  which  I 
feel  more  and  more  to  be  now  actually  opposed  to  the  forces 
that  make  for  some  measure  of  improvement  in  the  lot  of 
the  twenty  or  thirty  million  poor  among  my  fellow-country- 
men. I  have  been  compelled  again  and  again  to  reflect 
on  the  fact  that  I  can  look  forward  to  taking  a  part  in  the 
causes  that  I  care  for  just  four  times  as  long  as  I  have 
taken  part  in  them  already,  and  that  I  can  hope  to  see 
social  changes  not  immeasurably  greater  or  less  than  four 
times  those  which  I  have  watched  already.  I  have  cast  the 
illusion  of  remote  future  generations  out  of  my  scheme  of 
things.  We  cannot  form  ideals  even  for  our  own  children. 
Future  generation  may  be  as  much  of  a  pernicious  myth  as 
a  theological  God. 

Well,  I  am  compelled  by  my  nature  and  by  the  work  I 
am  fitted  for  to  be  a  political  realist.  But  I  really  hate 
myself  for  quarrelling  with  you  over  this.  I  have  valued 
your  love  for  what  it  has  taught  me  of  life — and  I  insist 
on  separating  the  individual  from  the  political  life;  it  is 
the  only  livable  theory.  I  am  a  different  being  when  I 
am  on  a  committee  or  pushing  a  plan  of  action  to  what  I 
am  in  relation  to  my  friends.  I  find  more  and  more  that 
I  don't  get  real  intimacy  from  the  people  I  work  with 
best.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  this  is  not  altogether  an 
accident.  I  have  observed  not  a  few  men  who  lived 
almost  entirely  in  their  work  and  seemed  really  to  have 
lost  the  faculty  of  intimacy  altogether.  It  is  not  of  value 
to  man  as  a  political  animal. 

I  have  seen  you  pass  through  enthusiasms  for  Women 
Suffrage,  the  Labour  Party,  extreme  political  Socialism 
and  Syndicalism,  while  my  peculiar  compound  of  Whig 
Socialism  has  become  more  definitely  Whiggish  (but  not 
in  reality  less  Socialistic),  and  I  have  grown  more  and  more 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  169 

suspicious  of  any  political  enthusiasm  based  on  a  fixed  idea. 
I  have  come  back  to  about  where  I  was  in  1906 — a  Liberal- 
Labour  man — after  a  good  many  spasms  of  revolutionary 
ardour  which  I  now  regard  as  being  as  far  behind  me  as 
my  religious  enthusiasms — in  fact,  as  being  the  same  stuff 
at  the  bottom.  I  want  that  steam  for  less  exciting  and  more 
useful  purposes,  like  any  pld  Whig.  When  I  find  the  political 
extremists  not  merely  telling  me  that  what  I  am  trying 
to  help  in  doing  is  not  good  but  actively  opposing  it,  I 
feel  it  is  humbug  for  me  to  pretend  that  I  am  out  for  the 
same  thing  as  they  are. 

I  tell  you  all  this  because  it  is  in  my  mind,  or  has  been, 
but  I  really  do  want  to  get  back  to  you.  I  love  your 
sympathy  with  my  work  and  I  don't  really  care  now  about 
its  being  logically  inconsistent ;  for  it  seems  to  me,  with 
extremist  politics,  life  is  too  short  to  sort  these  things  out. 

Do  come  and  see  me  next  week.  I  am  going  to  Bradford 
to-morrow,  but  shall  return,  I  think,  on  Sunday  night.  I 
am  staying  with  G.  and  am  looking  forward  to  seeing  his 
children. 

W.  came  to  see  me  this  morning.  We  had  some  interesting 
talk.  We  agreed  to  divide  men  into  the  "  Chivalrous," 
"  Feminists/'  and  "  Genuine  Males  "  —  priding  ourselves 
much,  of  course,  on  belonging  to  the  last. 

To  the  Same. 

IN  THE  TRAIN  TO  BRADFORD. 

14  March,  1914. 

Thank  you  for  your  letter.  I  am  enjoying  my  visit  to 
the  North  tremendously.  By  God  !  I  do  love  England. 
I  find  myself  more  and  more  substituting  a  definite  love  of 
my  country  for  vague  Socialist  emotion.  England  is  such 
a  glorious  place,  and  the  home  of  such  a  splendid  people. 
Now  I  have  lived  a  somewhat  detached  and  artificial  life 
for  a  year,  I  find  that  the  impressions  gathered  in  the 
various  places  where  I  lived  and  mixed  closely  with  people 
in  their  everyday  life  have  been  transfused  into  a  more 
or  less  unified  vision — Colchester,  Walworth,  and  Yorkshire. 
I  think  of  the  millions  of  ordinary  English  homes  in  the 
neighbourhoods  that  I  know  and  the  millions  of  men, 


170  KEELING  LETTERS 

women,  and  children  as  they  are,  I  feel  that  it  is  childish 
to  think  of  them  as  degraded  and  mean,  only  to  be  redeemed 
by  some  thaumaturgic  social  process.  There  is  no  thauma- 
turgy  in  social  changes,  the  Lord  be  praised  !  It  is  because 
of  the  stuff  that  is  in  the  people  of  England  that  they  are 
worth  living  with  and  fighting  with.  If  you  can't  see  and 
be  moved  by  the  stuff  that  is  there,  you  are  bound  to  be 
to  some  extent  on  the  wrong  tack  about  the  next  move. 
I  belong  to  England  and  next  to  the  whole  English-speaking 
world  and  after  that  to  all  the  Teutonic  races  of  the  North. 
We  are  the  right  arm  of  the  world  and  Earth's  fighting 
men — the  right  sort  for  Augean  jobs. 

To  the  Same. 

IN  TRAIN  FROM  COLCHESTER. 
19  March,  1914. 

I  have  just  been  to  Colchester  to  see  Mrs.  Green,  whose 
husband  has  just  died,  and  also  to  inspect  my  property 
and  see  my  tenants.  I  seem  to  feel  the  ghosts  of  my 
ancestors  and  of  my  old  childhood  stirring  in  my  bones. 
There  are  two  kinds  of  people  in  the  world — the  localized 
and  the  de-localized.  The  former  are  the  great  majority 
even  in  modern  England,  though  intellectuals  are  apt  to 
forget  it.  I  have  been  de-localized  for  ten  years,  in  most 
respects,  though  Walworth  and  Yorkshire  got  some  ten- 
tacles round  me.  But  as  I  gradually  cast  off  the  tyranny 
of  youthful  abstractions,  I,  at  any  rate,  leave  the  ground 
free  for  the  old  influences  which  found  me  as  a  child  and 
as  a  boy  to  grow  up  again.  I  don't  suppose  they  really 
will.  I  have  burned  too  many  of  the  boats,  though  some 
leaky  old  tubs  still  remain.  But  I  belong  there  in  Col- 
chester as  much  as  anywhere — and  I  am  as  much  at 
home  there  as  anywhere. 

I  shall  always  remember  Shaw  telling  me  once  how  a  young 
man  begins  by  rebelling  against  his  whole  environment, 
and  how  he  goes  out  and  rages  and  smashes  things  up,  but 
how  at  length  there  comes  a  time  when  (without  throwing 
over  his  acquired  convictions  and  knowledge)  he  feels 
he  must  or  at  least  can  go  back  to  his  kindred  and  home — 
thinking,  after  all,  we  are  men  living  life  together.  It  is 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  171 

very  true,  of  me,  anyhow,  though  I  suppose  there  is  the 
kind  which  remains  rebel  and  "  advanced  "  all  its  life. 

I  had  a  long  friendly  talk  with  Guy  the  other  day,  recall- 
ing many  things  and  people  in  childhood  and  boyhood  we  had 
never  spoken  of  to  each  other  before.  In  a  way  he  is  more 
of  a  Radical — a  rooter  up — than  I  am  now,  curiously  enough. 

God  !  it  is  queer  in  Colchester  to  talk  to  simple  folk — my 
small-holder  tenant,  a  railway  porter,  whom  I  have  known 
for  twenty  years.  The  old  things  grip. 

I  tried  to  get  to  Mr.  Green's  funeral — started  work  at 
seven  o'clock — but  I  had  a  tough  job  getting  to  the  bottom 
of  this  coal-mining  dispute,  which  I  was  determined  to  make 
clear  in  the  Statesman  because  no  other  paper  has  done  so, 
and  worked  till  two  o'clock  without  lunch. 

To  the  Same. 

21,  OLD  BUILDINGS,  LINCOLN'S  INN. 
2  May,  1914. 

I  think  my  sort  of  human  animal  gets  into  an  unhealthy 
state  of  mind  if  it  doesn't  work  fourteen  hours  a  day  and 
run  two  miles.  At  any  rate,  it  is  really  healthier  when  it 
does.  So  I  have  done  so  for  three  days  on  end,  and 
feel  better.  It  is  a  great  sensation  to  feel  the  stream  of 
British  Blue-books  flowing  through  one's  brain.  I  sat  down 
with  a  great  pile  to  digest  for  the  list,  on  my  right,  last 
night,  and  in  four  hours  worked  through  it,  heaving  each 
one  to  the  floor  on  my  left  with  a  great  crash  as  I  finished 
it.  It  would  make  a  good  Wagner  motif.  The  Local 
Taxation  Report,  just  out,  is  a  magnificent  document, 
the  sort  of  thing  that  really  makes  one's  brain  work,  a 
first-class  piece  of  British  political  meditation.  I  feel  as 
if  my  soul  reached  out  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  England 
through  these  Blue-books — a  truly  Icbcndigcs  klcid  for 
the  political  soul  of  the  English  people.  Jack  Squire's 
poem  on  the  Holborn  Restaurant  is  very  good.  I  feel 
like  that  when  I  read  Blue-books  about  millions  of  people. 
I  stop  and  think  of  them  all  for  a  moment  and  see  them  in 
streets  and  factories  and  workmen's  houses  and  Govern- 
ment offices — all  there  with  their  bodies  moving  for  some 
bloody  mysterious  reason. 


172  KEELING  LETTERS 

I  went  to  the  cinema  for  half  an  hour  on  Sunday  night, 
but  the  long  yarn  was  about  a  female  detective,  and  not 
nearly  as  good  as  male  criminals  and  love  affairs  generally 
are.  The  Boat  Race  was  good  though. 

By  the  way,  Mrs.  Bianchi l  has  fallen  ill.  If  she  isn't 
better,  I  hope  to  go  and  see  her  on  Thursday — can't  get 
before.  I  am  rather  anxious  about  the  children. 

To  the  Same. 

21,  OLD  BUILDINGS, 

LINCOLN'S  INN,  LONDON,  W.C. 
3  June,  1914. 

I  really  appreciated  your  letter  very  much.  You  know 
my  feeling  for  you  can  never  die.  It  is  in  my  bones  so  to 
speak — as  much  of  me  as  anything.  But  I  cannot  express 
the  whole  of  myself  at  once — and  parts  of  me  get  submerged 
at  intervals.  Some  personal  ties  get  practically  submerged 
beyond  recovery.  But  I  shall  carry  my  love  for  you  to  my 
grave — I  have  a  sense  of  fate  about  it. 

I  find  many  things  trying  now.  It  is  hard  to  have  lost 
one's  faith  in  Socialism  as  a  sort  of  religion,  and  the  more 
ironical  in  that  I  believe  more  and  more  clearly  in  it  as  an 
actual — as  the  only  conceivable — way  of  making  the  basic 
material  organization  of  life  tolerable  for  the  mass  of  my 
countrymen — and  of  Western  Europeans.  The  millions 
of  Hindus  and  Chinese  are  beyond  my  ken.  Only  what 
the  devil  is  one  to  live  and  work  for  ?  I  know  about  how 
much  change  I  shall  see  in  my  lifetime — more  or  less.  I 
am  prepared  to  do  my  humble  share  in  that  job — but  not 
in  a  spirit  of  early-morning  enthusiasm,  only  as  a  willing, 
passive  vehicle  of  the  will  of  my  country,  and  an  infinitesi- 
mally  small  active  participator  in  the  making  of  that  will. 
I  can  find  plenty  of  satisfaction  in  that  work.  I  don't 
want  the  hope  of  place  or  power  to  goad  me  on  ;  but  there 
must  be  some  background  to  it  all.  Nothing  supernatural 
or  ecclesiastical — I  loathe  the  degradation  of  the  human 
spirit  by  priest  as  much  as  ever  I  did.  I  only  want  some- 
thing to  take  the  place  of  what  I  had  as  a  youth  in  my 

1  The  mother  of  a  little  Italian  boy  he  had  made  friends  with 
in  the  street. 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  178 

dream  of  a  glorious  marching  Socialist  democracy — which 
is  an  illusion.  I  seem  to  find  shimmerings  of  a  substitute 
in  a  kind  of  almost  Quaker-like  belief  in  brotherly  love 
apart  from  any  theistic  sanction.  That  must  sound  queer 
from  me  !  Yet  it  is  so.  I  see  as  clearly  as  anything  that 
aggressiveness  and  quarrelsomeness  is  no  earthly  good — it 
has  done  me  no  good  and  it  won't  do  any  one  else  any  good. 
Tolstoy  taken  literally  is  absurd.  I  am  a  Big  Navy  man. 
But  the  spirit  of  Tolstoy  or  Shaw  or  Voltaire  (each  at  his 
best)  is  the  only  tolerable  outlook  on  life  if  one  sees  and 
feels.  And  if  one  were  strong  enough  to  live  it  out  in  life 
one  could  do  without  supernatural  sanctions,  and  do  without 
pretending  to  know  what  one  can't  know  or  swaddling 
oneself  in  mystical  phrases.  We  have  got  to  make  a  philo- 
sophy out  of  what  we  can  touch  and  feel  during  this  twenty- 
four  hours'  adventure  on  the  merry-go-round  of  earth — 
not  out  of  the  guesses  of  truth  as  to  the  beyond,  though 
every  man  must  have  his  guess  or  at  least  his  wonder  now 
and  again,  so  long  as  he  doesn't  let  himself  be  humbugged 
about  it. 

This  is  my  inner  self.  Alas !  I  cannot  keep  this  mood. 
I  see  and  feel  clearly  about  life  at  this  moment.  But  this 
afternoon  I  was  another  man — or  rather  animal — and 
when  you  came  to  see  me,  yet  another.  Changes  of  mood 
are  almost  as  mysterious  as  life  and  death  itself  when  you 
really  reflect  on  them.  The  life  and  death  of  a  mood  are 
as  strange  as  the  life  and  death  of  an  individual.  At  least, 
it  is  to  me  in  myself. 

That  is  all  now. 

To  Miss  C.  Townshcnd. 

LINCOLN'S  INN. 

S  June,  1914. 

I  had  a  very  enjoyable  day  yesterday,  inspecting  that 
land  and  walking  round  the  neighbourhood.1  I  like  the 
corner  very  much  and  have  written  asking  the  College  what 

1  He  was  thinking  of  building  a  cottage  for  himself  at  this  time, 
partly  with  a  view  to  making  a  home  for  his  old  Cambridge  "  bed- 
maker,"  who  was  to  keep  house  for  him  there.  The  site  he  went 
to  inspect  was  seven  or  eight  miles  from  Missenden,  on  some 
property  belonging  to  Magdalene  College. — E.  T. 


174  KEELING  LETTERS 

they  would  want  for  an  acre.  I  just  didn't  think  yesterday 
but  gulped  in  life  from  the  country.  I  think  I  must  feel 
the  effects  of  London  particularly,  or  at  least  more  than 
most  people.  I  really  haven't  got  through  much  work 
lately.  .  .  . 

The  fact  is  I  don't  really  believe  anything  nowadays, 
except  that  general  kindliness  would  help  human  life  on 
a  bit  more  and  that  collectivism  is  the  only  common-sense 
way  of  running  society,  if  mankind  had  a  bit  more  intelli- 
gence than  it  in  point  of  fact  has. 

I  met  a  wonderful  old  man  of  eighty-six  on  Cop  Hill 
and  had  a  long  talk  with  him.  He  had  a  blacksmith's 
shop  in  Risboro'  but  is  now  nearly  blind,  though  he  says 
he  often  walks  ten  miles.  His  mind  was  as  clear  as  anything. 
His  chief  passion  was  against  war,  and  he  talked  a  lot  about 
the  fact  that  poverty,  though  it  is  bad  now,  is  nothing 
to  what  it  was  in  the  days  of  his  youth.  He  described 
once  buying  a  penn'orth  of  suet  for  a  family  who  had  nothing 
but  a  swede  to  eat.  He  also  approved  strongly  of  Old  Age 
Pensions  (I  don't  know  if  he  had  one),  and  thought  we  had 
a  very  good  King,  didn't  like  to  hear  him  spoken  ill  of, 
didn't  believe  in  speaking  ill  of  any  one.  .  .  . 

I  have  a  vague  hope  that  gardening  would  supply  a  need 
in  my  life.  I  should  like  to  make  a  "lot  of  ten  acres  "  and 
grow  fruit  on  the  slopes  of  Cop  Hill,  produce  something 
solid  out  of  the  earth  instead  of  endless  talk,  talk,  talk. 
Man  must  have  either  an  illusion  or  a  plaything  to 
counteract  his  intelligence.  The  day  of  illusions  is  gone 
for  me,  therefore  il  faut  cultiver  noire  jardin.  Candide 
is  extraordinarily  true. 

When  I  say  I  don't  believe  anything,  I  do  in  a  way, 
politically.  I  honestly  believe  more  and  more  in  the 
Liberal  Party,  not  for  doing  anything  wonderful,  but  for 
helping  the  country  as  fast  as  it  will  go.  I  don't  think 
it  is  my  part  to  play  the  Socialist  game  of  trying  to  find 
as  many  reasons  as  possible  for  differing  from  the  powers 
that  be,  when  they  take  a  move  in  the  right  direction.  But 
it  is  a  belief  of  intellectual  conviction,  not  of  enthusiasm. 
I  feel  as  if  I  never  should  have  an  enthusiasm  again  for  the 
rest  of  my  life. 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  175 


To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

21,  OLD  BUILDINGS, 

LINCOLN'S  INN,  LONDON,  W.C. 
14  June,  1914. 

I  had  rather  a  hard  week  this  last  week,  or  I  should  have 
replied  to  your  letter  before.  It  moved  me  very  much ; 
you  know  more  about  me  than  any  one  else  ever  will  and 
are  quite  right  about  my  moods. 

I  have  spent  to-day  with  the  "  Sunday  Tramps."  Old 
Haldane,  who  was  one  of  the  original  Tramps  along  with 
Pollock  and  Maitland  and  Leslie  Stephen,  came  out  with  us. 
He  is  a  fine  old  fellow.  A  constitutional  system  which  brings 
men  like  him  and  Grey  and  Lloyd  George  and  Simon  and 
Chiozza  Money  to  the  front  rank  of  political  leadership 
has  got  a  good  deal  of  life  in  it  yet.  You  were  quite  light 
when  you  said  I  ought  to  mix  more  with  people  of  various 
types.  I  used  to  get  a  fair  variety  in  Leeds  in  one  way 
or  another.  But,  although  I  learn  a  lot  from  M.  and  N., 
I  get  a  bit  tired  of  their  standpoint,  which  is  pretty  well 
my  own,  in  theory  anyhow.  Perhaps  I  get  tired  of  it  for 
that  reason.  .  .  . 

I  am  hesitating  on  the  brink  of  taking  part  in  Liberal 
politics.  I  think  I  shall.  I  don't  see  what  else  I  can  do 
usefully  in  politics.  I  am  decidedly  anti-revolutionist, 
and  I  don't  believe  in  most  of  the  doctrines  which  distinguish 
the  I.L.P.  from  the  Liberals — the  right  to  work,  extreme 
anti-militarism,  Little  Navy  and  Little  Englandism.  The 
Fabian  or  Statesman  point  of  view  does  not  stand  for  any 
large  movement  of  or  section  in  English  society  as  it  is. 
It  represents  very  able  criticism  and  a  constructive  policy 
which  is  too  logical  for  English  politics.  Now,  I  do  care 
about  seeing  the  concrete  circumstances  of  the  life  of  the 
English  people  appreciably  ameliorated — as  Liberal  legis- 
lation has  in  fact  appreciably  ameliorated  them.  I  have  not 
a  very  incisive  critical  mind.  It  is  not  my  job  in  life  to 
cut  other  people's  plans  up.  Therefore  why  should  I 
stultify  myself  by  cutting  myself  off  from  the  only  line  of 
practical  political  activity  open  to  me  ?  I  am  perhaps 
a  keener  suffragist  than  you  give  me  credit  for,  but  I  can't 


176  KEELING  LETTERS 

honestly  say  I  think  that  that  is  a  sufficient  reason  for 
keeping  out  of  Liberal  politics. 

Yet  I  don't  like  the  Liberal  machine — the  money,  the 
social  snobbery  and  undemocratic  spirit  among  many  of 
the  leading  people,  and  so  on.  The  only  thing  is,  one  has 
to  put  up  with  something  and  simply  hope  to  better  it. 
I  don't  see  that  the  Labour  Caucus  is  much  better  than  the 
Liberal — while  I  simply  can't  swallow  the  doctrinaire 
generalizations  of  the  Socialists.  I  feel  there  is  in  some 
ways  more  room  for  idealism  with  the  Liberals. 

S.,  whom  I  met  to-day,  was  a  Fabian  at  Oxford  and 
joined  the  London  Fabians  and  saw  a  lot  of  the  Webbs. 
There  must  be  a  lot  of  people  who  have  passed  through  that 
phase  and  left  it.  It  has  been  a  queer  phenomenon  in 
English  political  life.  I  can't  help  thinking  it  would  have 
been  better  if  Webb  had  taken  Potter's  seat  at  Rochdale 
in  the  nineties  and  been  a  Cabinet  Minister  in  the  Liberal 
Government  when  it  came  in  in  1906. 

I  feel  I  have  done  things  in  my  life  in  a  different  order 
from  the  great  majority  of  men.  My  virtues  and  vices 
are,  as  you  pointed  out,  inverted  as  compared  with  those 
of  the  common  run  of  humanity,  and  I  suppose  it  is  only 
natural  that  the  order  of  events  in  my  life  should  be  too  in 
some  ways. 

I  should  like  to  see  you  this  week  if  you  can  come. 


To  the  Same. 

KELBERG.1 

Monday  night,  29  June,  1914. 

Dudley  and  I  started  walking  yesterday  from  the  Rhine  ; 
but  we  happened  to  see  about  the  shooting  of  the  Erzherzog 
at  mid-day  to-day  in  the  last  village  reached  by  the  railway 
up  the  valley  along  which  we  were  going.  So  he  has  had 
to  hurry  back  to  Cologne  and  Berlin  in  order  to  write  up 
stuff,  while  I  have  come  on  alone. 

I  am  vaguely  intending  to  walk  to  Treves  and  possibly 
just  go  to  Luxemburg.  I  shall  go  down  the  Moselle  by 
boat,  I  think,  on  Sunday,  and  down  the  Rhine  to  Cologne  on 

1  A  village  somewhere  between  the  Rhine  and  Luxemburg. 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  177 

Monday  morning,  returning  to  London  on  Tuesday  morning. 
This  is  quite  good  walking  country,  and  is  of  course  only 
about  sixteen  hours  away  from  London.  .  .  . 

This  evening  I  was  sitting  on  a  grass  bank  by  the  roadside 
watching  the  sunset.  :  There  was  one  of  these  Catholic 
image  things  just  behind  me.  A  peasant  woman  came  across 
the  fields  with  a  dog  which  ran  round  me  excitedly.  She 
went  past  me  down  the  road.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  later 
the  dog  reappeared,  and  I  heard  some  one  tread  on  a  board 
which  I  had  noticed  in  front  of  the  shrine.  When  I  looked 
round  I  saw  the  woman  going  back  across  the  field ;  and 
as  I  got  up  to  return  to  the  hotel  I  saw  two  freshly  lit 
candles  in  front  of  the  image.  Hardened  realist  as  I  am, 
I  could  not  help  feeling  the  beauty  of  the  act.  It  somehow 
fitted  with  the  place  and  time.  And  yet  I  wonder  if  that 
woman's  character  is  of  a  piece  with  the  act,  as  it  appeared. 
My  intelligence  tells  me  that  as  likely  as  not  it  was  a  mean 
external  act  of  penance.  Is  it  good  to  have  the  external 
beauty  and  take  your  chance  that  it  perhaps  on  the  whole 
means  something  internal,  just  because  human  beings 
are  in  the  main  kindly  and  decent  people  ?  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know.  Anyhow  the  act  was  good  for  me. 

To  Miss  C.  Townshcnd. 

LINCOLN'S  INN. 

30  July,  1914. 

.  .  .  How  horrible  this  threatened  war  is  !  Where  is  the 
sense  of  the  human  race  ?  The  only  thing  is,  that  I  don't 
think  it  can  be  argued  that  capitalism,  even  the  armament 
firms,  are  the  main  force  behind  it.  The  big  national 
and  racial  feelings  are  there.  One  may  not  share  them  : 
my  renewal  of  patriotism  doesn't  really  involve  any  war 
cult,  but  one  has  to  recognize  them.  The  Southern  Slav 
movement  is  the  most  important  of  all  the  national  move- 
ments in  Europe  now.  I  have  thought  for  some  time  that 
it  would  probably  prove  to  be  the  storm-centre  of  Europe, 
but  I  had  no  idea  anything  like  this  was  coming  so  soon. 
I  can't  help  thinking  we  and  Germany  will  settle  it  somehow. 
I  can't  believe  in  the  Russians  and  French  politically  or 
strategically.  I  am  sure  the  Teuton  and  Anglo-Saxon  are 

13 


178  KEELING  LETTERS 

going  to  dominate  the  world  politically.  Both  from  a 
sentimental  and  from  a  logical  point  of  view,  I  detest  our 
position  on  the  Franco-Russian  side. 

To  Mrs.  Townshcnd. 

BLACKGANG  HOTEL, 

CHALE,  ISLE  OF  WIGHT.* 
Sunday,  2  August,  1914. 

I  have  come  down  here  for  a  couple  of  nights  to  get  a 
little  opportunity  for  peaceful  reflections.  War  news  has 
been  trickling  through  ever  since  I  left  London  at  five 
o'clock  yesterday  morning.  When  I  reached  Basingstoke 
they  gave  notice  that  Portsmouth  harbour  was  being  closed 
up.  I  was  going  by  Southampton  in  order  to  get  the 
pleasant  trip  down  Southampton  Water.  To-day  I  met  a 
postman  on  special  duty  taking  round  mobilization  notices 
to  Naval  Reservists.  This  morning  I  heard  that  Germany 
had  given  twenty-four  hours'  notice  to  Russia  and  France 
to  cease  mobilizing,  and  to-night  there  is  a  rumour  that  she 
refuses  to  recognize  Belgian  neutrality,  and  has  already 
entered  Belgian  territory.  If  so  it  is  all  up,  I  suppose.  You 
know  my  feelings — my  sympathies  are  all  on  the  other  side, 
except  so  far  as  my  own  country  is  concerned.  I  have  a 
sort  of  secondary  patriotism  for  Germany,  and  it  seems  to 
me  madness  that  we  should  be  fighting  on  the  side  of  the 
Russian  barbarians  and  the  French,  who  have  caused  most 
of  the  wars  of  the  last  three  centuries.  The  best  thing 
that  can  happen  now  is  for  Germany  to  be  victorious  every- 
where on  land  and  for  us  to  come  out  top  everywhere  on 
sea.  We  have  ourselves  no  quarrel  with  Germany  now— 
every  one  admits  that.  And  if  things  were  to  turn  out  in 
that  way  I  think  Germany  and  ourselves  would  have  enough 
sense  to  settle  the  foundations  of  a  lasting  peace  and  keep 
these  quarrelsome,  hypersensitive  Slavs  and  Latins  in  their 
places. 

But   the  whole   thing   is   too   dreadful   for  words.     All 
that  is  what  I  feel  as  a  political  animal  to  be  the  best  prac- 
ticable thing  for  the  world.     As  a  man,  I  detest  the  con- 
ception of  one  national  culture  regarding  itself  as  essentially 
1  Returning  home  to-morrow. 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  179 

the  enemy  of  another.  Yet  we  Anglo-Saxons  are  the 
only  race  who  have  in  any  sense  really  grasped  the  idea  of 
letting  people  select  whatever  culture  they  like  for  themselves 
—and  even  we  have  only  grasped  it  pretty  imperfectly. 
But  I  am  no  Radical  Cobdenite.  When  I  see  the  sort  of 
people  like  the  visitors  at  this  hotel,  I  can't  help  feeling 
that  peace  without  ideals  is  worse  than  war.  Have  we  yet 
found  a  substitute  for  war  ?  The  worst  of  it  is  these  people 
only  get  a  miserable  vicarious  emotion  out  of  war.  They 
may  have  sixpence  put  on  their  income  tax — but  they 
won't  really  come  essentially  nearer  realities.  Well,  the 
world  may  learn  a  big  lesson  out  of  this — perhaps  it  will 
knock  a  dose  of  brotherly  love  into  them  which  they  might 
not  have  learned  in  a  century  of  peace — or  ever. 

Has  ever  a  nation  gone  into  war  more  cold-bloodedly 
and  reluctantly  than  we  are  going — if  to-night's  rumour 
is  right  ?  There  has  been  no  emotion  discernible  in  London. 
Every  trace  of  that  anti-German  feeling  which  put  a  few 
score  thousands  into  Northcliffe's  pocket — and  thereby 
served  its  primary  purpose,  I  suppose — has  disappeared 
completely.  Men  whom  I  knew  as  raving  anti-Germans 
five  years  ago  have  now  lost  every  trace  of  such  sentiments, 
and  even  the  Times  can't  pump  much  enthusiasm  for 
France.  Well,  perhaps  there  will  be  some  mess  to  be  cleared 
up  after  it  all  where  I  shall  be  able  to  help. 

Monday  morning. 

I  feel  that  the  main  thing  about  me,  what  has  been  the 
determining  factor  of  my  life  so  far,  is  an  enormous  capacity 
for  change  and  experiment.  I  can't  help  feeling  that  for 
good  and  evil  I  have  tested  a  wider  range  of  experience  in 
the  past  ten  years  than  the  great  majority  of  men.  I 
don't  mean  to  say  I  have  necessarily  lived  a  broader  life, 
but  I  have  experimented  in  the  methods  of  life  a  good  deal 
more  than  most  men,  and  used  myself — and  other  people — 
as  a  corpus  vile  almost  remorselessly.  Well,  I  can't  say  I 
regret  it.  Character  is  destiny — and  both  the  folly  and 
the  wisdom,  both  the  cowardice  and  the  courage  of  it 
seem  alike  to  have  flowed  from  my  own  character  in  the 
main,  though  external  circumstances  have  determined  the 


180  KEELING  LETTERS 

particular  deviations  of  the  course.  There  has  been  much 
waste — and  there  might  have  been  a  good  deal  more.  But 
a  man  cannot  root  up  the  tentacles  of  his  nature  as  I  have 
done  without  suffering  for  it.  Had  I  not  some  fixed  point 
I  don't  know  what  might  have  happened  to  me.  I  am 
impetuous  enough  for  anything — any  madness.  And  you 
have  been  my  real  rallying-point  all  these  years — the  one 
fixed  tie  which  has  kept  me  in  touch  with  the  most 
human  side  of  life.  There  is  a  lot  of  the  brute  in  me — 
but  the  strand  of  the  human  that  there  is,  though  it 
runs  thin  pretty  often,  is  more  subtle  and  sensitive  than 
the  thick  rope  of  normal  social  sentiments  which  bind 
most  men  willy-nilly  to  their  kind  and  to  the  traditions  of 
civilization. 

I  am  curiously  enough  back  at  where  I  was  ten  years 
ago — with  a  difference — in  this  as  in  other  things.  I  even 
feel  a  recrudescence  of  old  ascetic  plain-living  aspirations. 
I  have  no  illusions  about  their  value  for  their  own  sake, 
but  there  is  conflict  in  me  between  mental  and  material, 
between  ways  of  life  which  I  can  only  regard  as  better  and 
worse.  I  feel  I  should  be  a  better  man  living  life  with  a 
minimum  of  physical  pleasure — or  not  a  minimum  but 
rather  .  .  . 

NATIONAL  LIBERAL  CLUB. 
Midnight. 

There  is  no  room  for  one's  personal  feelings  now.  I  am 
amazed  at  the  lack  of  feeling  and  interest  about  the  war 
everywhere — even  now.  I  have  just  passed  by  a  ring  of 
guffawing  fools  sitting  over  their  whisky  in  the  smoking- 
room.  The  holiday  people  at  Cowes  and  in  the  train  simply 
didn't  seem  to  grasp  the  fact  that  we  are  on  the  edge  of 
the  greatest  abyss  in  history. 

It  is  too  awful  for  words.  I  am  still  hesitating,  but  I 
frankly  confess  my  first  emotion  at  the  Liberal  peace  speeches 
in  the  Commons  is  one  of  disgust  at  smug  insular  pietism. 
One  may  be  a  peace  man  or  a  war  man,  but  not  a  peace  man 
on  the  basis  of  these  old-womanish  platitudes.  I  have 
long  looked  forward  to  a  predominantly  Teutonic  Central 
European  State  stretching  from  Antwerp  to  Trieste.  I 


LIFE  IN  LONDON  181 

wrote  a  long  letter  to  the  Nation  on  the  subject  two  or 
three  years  ago,  but  I  am  enough  of  a  Liberal  and  Con- 
stitutionalist to  object  to  the  foundations  of  such  a  State 
being  laid  upon  a  blood-and-iron  policy.  It  is  not  good  for 
Europe  or  for  the  Germany  which  I  feel  to  be  my  own 
country  after  England.  It  means  a  ring  of  Alsace-Lorraines 
all  round  the  heart  of  the  country  and  probably  a  war  of 
liberation  in  the  end.  I  believe  firmly  that  Russia  has 
provoked  this  war,  and  that  without  Russia's  intrigues  it 
might  never  have  taken  place.  Germany  naturally  deter- 
mines to  strike  as  hard  as  she  can  and  as  soon  as  she  can — 
and  that  involves  invading  Belgium.  But  the  practical 
inevitability  of  this  first  step,  given  the  Russian  aggression, 
doesn't  make  it  any  more  acceptable.  I  can't  see  now  how 
we  can  help  going  in.  It  may  be  that  if — as  may  well  be 
— a  deadlock  occurs,  Germany  and  France  and  ourselves 
will  all  want  to  stop  and  Russia  alone  will  try  to  keep  going. 
That  may  hurry  on  by  a  decade  the  Western  combination 
against  these  accursed  barbarians,  Jew-baiters,  and  up- 
holders of  gross  mediaeval  Christianity.  They  may  stand 
for  culture,  but  they  are  the  enemies  of  civilization.  Europe 
outside  Germany  and  England  has  yet  to  learn  the  difference 
between  these  terms. 

The  English  Socialist  and  Labour  anti-patriotic  Quaker- 
isms are  not  much  good  after  Herve's  recantation. 

I  may  be  excited  or  conceited  or  prejudiced,  but  what  I 
have  seen  to-day  has  given  me  a  painful  impression  of 
English  insularity.  I  spent  a  couple  of  hours  in  the  crowds 
at  Cowes.  I  had  not  seen  an  English  Bank  Holiday  scene 
for  many  years  and  I  was  glad  to  be  mixed  up  with  it. 
The  patient,  courageous,  placid  stolidity  of  the  crowd  was 
amazing.  But  the  insularity,  the  inability  to  get  a  glim- 
mering of  this  appalling  situation  !  They  had  better  have 
been  conscripts  in  some  ways  than  like  this.  And  these 
smug  Liberals — ugh  ! 

I  spent  most  of  two  days  reading  a  fat  book  by  Holland 
Rose  on  the  development  of  the  European  nations,  1870- 
1900.  It  is  really  very  good  for  refurbishing  and  expanding 
one's  History. 


182  KEELING  LETTERS 

Yet  though  I  feel  decidedly  Nationalist  to-night,  I  can 
respect  the  proletariat  for  refusing  to  be — these  South 
Wales  miners  and  the  engineers  who  have  refused  to  end 
the  strike  unless  they  get  their  terms — so  long  as  it  is  a 
matter  of  effective  action,  not  mere  smug  Pacifism. 

I  must  go  to  bed.     I  have  work  to-morrow. 

21,  OLD  BUILDINGS, 

LINCOLN'S  INN,  LONDON,  W.C. 

Tuesday. 

I  kept  this  back  because  I  don't  seem  to  have  said  what 
I  mean  to  say  to  you.  But  it  is  difficult  to  think  and  act 
as  one  would  like  at  a  time  like  this.  Thank  Heaven  there 
is  no  Maficking,  except  a  few  crowds,  largely  composed  of 
boys.  What  we  have  got  to  do  in  the  interest  of  Europe 
is  to  fight  Germany  without  passion,  with  respect  and 
with  all  our  might,  but  without  bitterness.  I  believe 
we  may  do,  in  spite  of  Garvin  and  Northcliffe.  Did  you 
see  that  horrible  Daily  Mail  poster  on  Monday,  "  Greedy 
Germany  "  ?  I  respect  the  confidence — magnificent  con- 
fidence— of  Germany  daring  the  whole  ring  of  nations  all 
round  her.  I  feel  rather  ashamed  at  not  being  in  a  posi- 
tion to  be  called  up.  I  don't  value  my  life  much  just 
now,  and  I  would  be  game  for  anything  desperate  that 
was  of  use. 

The  Pacifists  arouse  my  contempt  more  than  ever.  They 
have  made  a  rotten  show. 

There  may  be  a  chance  of  some  invaluable  experiments 
in  dealing  with  unemployment.  Public  opinion  won't, 
I  think,  tolerate  the  idea  of  men  starving  owing  to  this  war. 
I  have  just  been  rung  up  to  join  a  private  committee  at 
Toynbee  Hall  for  suggesting  plans  to  the  Government. 

I  rather  think  the  Labour  and  Pacifist  Radical  elements 
may  go  down  for  some  years  over  this  business.  I  wonder 
if  there  is  hope  for  a  collectivist  movement  at  once  national 
and  democratic. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

SOLDIERING    IN    ENGLAND 

AUGUST,  1914,  TO  APRIL,  1915. 

ONCE  war  was  declared,  Keeling  did  not  hesitate  a  moment  about 
joining  the  Army.  He  began  drilling  at  once  with  the  Artists' 
Rifles,  but  soon  decided  to  enlist  in  a  county  regiment.  His  friend 
Rupert  Brooke  and  several  other  University  men  joined  the  Artists' 
with  him,  but  most  of  them  accepted  commissions,  which  were 
offered,  I  think,  to  all  of  them.  Keeling  refused,  a  refusal  which 
he  repeated  several  times  later  on,  and  by  the  end  of  August  had 
become  a  private  in  the  6th  Battalion  of  the  Duke  of  York's  Light 
Infantry. 

The  zest  with  which  he  threw  himself  into  the  new  life  becomes 
abundantly  clear  from  his  letters.  As  we  have  seen  already,  he 
had  been  haunted  for  years  by  a  desire  to  experience  the  life  of 
the  manual  worker  and  to  earn  his  living  for  a  time  by  the  sweat 
of  his  brow.  The  opportunity  arose  in  a  manner  totally  unforeseen, 
but  none  the  less  welcome.  It  was  a  real  joy  to  him  to  throw  in 
his  lot  with  the  rank  and  file,  and  a  few  weeks  later  to  share  the 
camaraderie  of  the  sergeants'  mess.  He  had  been  talking  latterly, 
sometimes  regretfully,  sometimes  boastfully,  of  the  death  of  his 
earlier  Socialist  enthusiasm,  but  his  eager  adoption  of  the  lot  of 
the  common  soldier,  and  his  unwavering  sympathy  with  his  com- 
rades, shows  the  old  fire  unquenched. 

To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

LINCOLN'S  INN.     7  August,   1914. 

.  .  .  The  Belgians  are  really  magnificent.  I  can't  help 
wishing  we  had  got  a  few  tens  of  thousands  of  troops  over 
there  already ;  but  no  doubt  the  Government  has  got 
its  plans  well  laid.  There  seems  no  doubt  that  the  Chau- 
vinists really  got  the  bit  between  their  teeth  in  Germany, 
though  I  sympathize  with  the  whole  of  Germany  over 
the  Russian  danger  enormously.  .  .  . 

I  think  the  conduct  of  the  British  nation  is  really  fine. 

183 


184  KEELING  LETTERS 

Only  the  Northcliffe  Press  shows  a  degraded  Jingo  spirit, 
and,  at  any  rate  up  to  two  days  ago,  the  Maficking  crowds 
were  nearly  all  boys.  I  heard  a  story  yesterday  that 
the  Government  heard  half  an  hour  after  the  German 
refusal  to  agree  to  mediation  over  Serbia  that  Austria 
had  agreed. 

It  seems  pretty  clear  that  the  Germans  have  no  friends 
anywhere  in  the  world,  except  perhaps  in  Turkey,  and 
possibly  Bulgaria.  Of  course,  one  will  wait  to  learn 
the  German  version  of  the  whole  story  after  the  war,  before 
finally  accepting  the  British  version.  I  still  suspect  that 
Russia  really  is  to  blame  more  than  any  one,  though  one 
can't  prove  it  on  the  evidence  now  available. 

I  still  hope  that  the  moral  results  of  this  war  may  out- 
weigh much  of  the  material  loss.  It  looks  as  if,  for  instance, 
it  would  settle  the  Irish  question.  I  only  hope  that  there 
won't  be  a  repetition  of  the  post-i8jo  spirit.  The  aim 
of  every  one  who  is  a  good  European  as  well  as  a  patriot 
is  to  look  forward  to  a  settlement  which  will  avoid  that. 
How  will  Germany  come  out  of  it  as  a  nation  ?  That 
is  the  overwhelmingly  interesting  thing.  I  hope  we  shall 
give  Germany  back  every  scrap  of  her  colonial  possessions, 
and  even  a  bit  more  if  we  can.  But,  of  course,  all  that 
assumes  a  complete  British  victory  by  sea,  and  one  must 
not  be  over-confident  about  that.  I  had  a  card  from 
Korsch  which  reached  me  just  after  the  outbreak  of  war. 
They  refused  to  give  him  a  commission  because  he  is  sus- 
pected of  Social  Democrat  leanings,  so  he  is  going  in  as 
a  non-commissioned  officer. 

I  happened  to  have  five  pounds  in  cash  when  the  scare 
began,  and  can  send  you  a  pound  if  by  any  chance  you 
are  in  difficulties  for  money.  I  hope  to  be  able  to  draw 
no  cheques  for  some  days. 

It  will  be  extraordinarily  interesting  if  the  credit  system 
shows  itself  capable  of  standing  a  strain  like  this  without 
really  in  any  way  collapsing,  but  there  is  bound  to  be 
frightful  unemployment  afterwards,  if  the  Government 
does  not  take  really  big  steps. 

I  only  wish  things  were  brought  home  to  the  comfort- 
able classes  more  here,  as  they  are  abroad.  We  all  get 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  185 

our  meals  and  comfortable  beds  just  the  same,  and  it  seems 
rather  disgraceful. 

The  Edmonton  Co-op,  has  just  opened  a  branch  near 
here,  and  I  have  joined.  I  am  rather  glad  to  be  a  co- 
operator  again.  It  was  one  of  my  earliest  enthusiasms  ; 
I  made  my  mother  buy  everything  from  the  local  Co-op, 
when  I  was  fifteen,  and  in  some  ways  it  is  the  finest  of 
the  British  working-class  achievements.  The  Co-ops,  are,  of 
course,  of  enormous  value  now  in  keeping  down  prices. 
Bread  was  still  at  the  normal  price  at  my  Co-op,  on  Wednes- 
day, whereas  it  had  gone  up  a  penny  everywhere  else. 

To  the  Same. 

LINCOLN'S  INN.     24  August,  1914. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  your  letter.  Most  people 
are  cursing  me  for  enlisting,  but  I  think  the  argument 
about  being  wanted  at  home  can  be  pushed  too  far.  .  .  . 
They  say  I  am  doing  the  easy  thing,  shall  have  a  good 
time,  and  so  forth.  As  far  as  I  can  see,  I  shall  like  it 
more  than  I  thought  I  should,  and  I  feel  I  shall  be  a  better 
man  for  being  a  really  hard-trained  soldier,  as  I  hope  to 
be  at  the  end  of  six  months.  Am  I  not  justified  in  doing 
a  thing  which  is  at  any  rate  not  dishonourable  in  itself, 
and  gives  one  direct  experience  of  another  side  of  life 
and  another  way  of  living  altogether,  at  a  time  when  one 
is  not  really  wanted  as  much  as  ordinarily  ?  The  argu- 
ment that  I  shall  be  of  no  more  value  than  a  bus  conductor 
in  the  ranks  doesn't  move  me  at  all.  I  feel  that  there 
is  some  value  in  standing  level  with  the  bus  conductor 
at  a  time  like  the  present. 

Rupert  Brooke  has  dropped  out.  He  wants  a  commis- 
sion after  all,  and  thinks  he  can  get  one  through  pushing 
in  various  quarters.  There  is  a  young  Cambridge  fellow 
who  came  in  with  us  who  is  stopping  with  me,  but  we 
shall  probably  get  separated,  as  his  parents  object  to  his 
volunteering  for  foreign  service,  and  he  is  not  sure  if  he 
is  strong  enough.  .  .  .  God  !  it  is  good  to  feel  one's 
muscles  stiff  after  four  hours'  drilling.  I  don't  think 
I  shall  ever  stoop  again.  I  have  thought  of  going  in 
the  Kitchener  Army.  But  our  battalion  really  is  a  very 


186  KEELING  LETTERS 

fine  corps,  one  of  the  crack  Territorial  Corps ;  and 
although  there  are  stories  that  Kitchener  is  down  on 
the  Territorials,  and  won't  use  them  for  foreign  service, 
it  seems  impossible  that  he  won't  take  advantage  of 
the  fifteen  thousand  or  so  who  have  volunteered  for 
foreign  service  and  turn  them  into  a  special  corps,  or 
convert  them  into  regulars  if  he  likes  pro  tern.  I  wish 
they  had  made  Haldane  and  not  Kitchener  Secretary  for 
War.  Let  K.  be  Commander-in-Chief,  but,  damn  it  all, 
we  are  fighting  European  militarism  if  we  are  fighting 
anything,  and  we  ought  to  uphold  our  own  constitutional 
principles.  I  don't  see  what  we  should  lose  in  efficiency 
by  so  doing  in  this  instance.  Also  the  filthy  Northcliffe 
Press  attack  on  Haldane  was  damnable. 

I  get  more  and  more  furious  at  these  attacks  on  Germans 
here.  It  is  so  damnably  mean  dismissing  wretched 
governesses  and  servants  and  so  on.  Even  this  "  smash 
German  trade  "  movement  has  a  touch  of  the  mean  about 
it,  but  I  suppose  that  is  inevitable.  It  looks  as  if  this 
might  be  a  particularly  brutal  war. 

I  do  hope  the  Allies  are  holding  the  Lille-Namur  line, 
and  may  be  able  to  break  the  German  communications 
by  an  attack  from  Namur  and  Antwerp.  But  the  Ger- 
mans must  have  foreseen  the  risk  of  that.  By  the  way, 
Belloc's  two  articles  (one  unsigned)  in  Land  and  Water 
are  an  admirably  lucid  elementary  exposition  of  the  art 
of  modern  war  and  of  this  campaign  in  the  West. 

The  Dalmatian  and  Adriatic  fighting  is  more  vivid  to 
me  than  any  other  after  seeing  all  these  places.  I  hope 
the  Montenegrins  will  be  too  busy  to  attack  Scutari.  I 
see  that  the  French  contingent  went  up  from  Scutari  to 
join  the  Montenegrin  Army.  That  international  rescuing 
of  Scutari  from  the  Montenegrins  was  a  single  fine  Euro- 
pean achievement  in  the  middle  of  all  the  diplomatic 
rivalries,  and  it  is  sad  to  think  of  it  going  under. 

To  the  Same. 

LINCOLN'S  INN.     August,  1914. 

.  .  .  God !  one  wonders  how  one  would  stand  up  to 
some  of  the  things  one  reads  of,  but  I  suppose  one  might. 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  187 

Anyhow,  it  is  not  that,  but  slamming  hard  discipline  one 
has  to  face  in  the  next  few  months.  The  Germans  must 
have  lost  enormously.  Even  they  can't  stand  that  for 
ever.  They  seem  to  have  sacrificed  themselves  just  like 
the  Japanese  in  the  Russian  War.  It  is  magnificent. 
I  can't  work  up  any  feeling  against  them,  in  spite  of  the 
atrocity  stories.  We're  all  capable  of  pretty  bad  things 
given  the  least  encouragement  to  barbarities  ;  it  is  absurd 
to  blame  the  men.  The  Germans  really  do  seem  to  have 
less  power  of  appreciating  other  people's  point  of  view 
than  most  races.  Louvain  is  a  blunder.  I  am  not 
enough  of  a  scholar  or  artist  to  feel  directly  and  deeply 
about  the  destruction  of  the  beauties  of  the  place.  It 
does  move  me,  of  course,  but  not  as  much  as  lots  of  other 
things.  The  everyday  life  of  the  present  is  my  main 
interest,  and  I  am  not  sure  how  much  the  culture  of  Lou- 
vain  really  means  to  that.  Of  course,  it  would  horrify 
me  a  bit  if  I  were  ordered  on  a  sudden  to  help  destroy 
a  beautiful  town  ;  perhaps  it  wouldn't  if  one  had  been  en- 
gaged in  fighting  for  a  week  on  end,  but  I  can't  help  feeling 
that  a  lot  of  people  who  execrate  the  conduct  of  the  Germans 
about  Louvain  wouldn't  really  feel  much  of  the  beauty 
of  the  place  in  their  own  lives,  and  if  so,  the  execration 
partakes  of  cant. 

I  am  not  going  into  this  job  in  a  simple  swelling  mood 
of  patriotism.  That  is  there,  but  there  are  a  lot  of  other 
things,  personal  and  impersonal,  which  complicate  it.  But 
no  doubt  the  sergeant  will  smooth  all  those  creases  out. 

Is  the  world  going  to  come  out  of  this  business  saner  ? 
I  am  rather  depressed  about  that  idea  now.  It  seems 
that  we  are  perhaps  simply  going  to  learn  to  hate  the 
Germans.  I  expect  I  shall  be  a  stronger  Pacifist  after 
the  war  than  any  of  the  people  who  are  Pacifists  now. 
But  I  don't  feel  one  will  have  earned  the  right  to  be  one 
unless  one  has  gone  in  with  the  rest. 

To  the  Same. 

LINCOLN'S  INN.     26  August,  1914. 

.  .  .  Most  of  the  men  (sixty  or  seventy)  in  the  squadron 
in  which  I  am  drilling  are  getting  very  sick  at  the  delay 


188  KEELING  LETTERS 

in  swearing  us  in,  and  the  slackness  in  getting  through 
the  work.  The  Colonel  addressed  us  to-day,  and  said  we 
were  very  fine  fellows,  etc.,  but  could  promise  no  definite 
date.  I  have  therefore  practically  decided  to  go  in  the 
Kitchener  Army.  Luckily  enough,  I  was  rung  up  to-day 
by  an  Oxford  man  in  the  Board  of  Trade,  who  heard  I  was 
thinking  of  going  in  the  ranks  in  the  Kitchener  Army,  and 
wants  to  come  with  me  if  he  can  get  permission.  He 
is  a  very  good  fellow  and  would  make  a  good  comrade- 
in-arms.  We  both  had  the  idea  of  going  and  enlisting 
in  a  country  district — West  of  England,  Sussex,  or  West- 
moreland. The  men  who  are  being  enlisted  in  London 
are  in  many  cases  rather  awful  types,  much  farther  off 
the  decent  workman  than  we  are  from  the  latter.  I  saw 
a  good  deal  of  the  type  at  the  starting  of  the  Exchange 
in  Leeds.  Countrymen  or  miners  or  any  set  of  men  from 
a  district  with  something  of  a  traditional  standard  of  com- 
fort would  make  much  better  fellow-soldiers,  and  I  don't 
see  the  point  of  running  up  against  the  worst  types  of 
proletarians. 

I  suppose  it  is  no  good  expecting  to  be  back  before 
twelve  months.  It  means  a  big  break  in  one's  life,  and 
I  find  it  rather  a  business  settling  up  my  affairs. 

I  should  be  happier  with  a  decent  sort  of  workmen  than 
with  the  middle-class  young  men  in  the  Artists.  And  I 
think  the  Kitchener  Army  will  get  tougher  work  and 
training;  we  shall  be  the  professionals. 

If  the  war  does  go  on  for  a  long  time  it  will  be  queer 
to  turn  into  a  regular  professional  soldier  scouring  Europe. 
But  I  hope  to  God  Europe  will  come  to  its  senses,  or  at 
any  rate  that  Western  Europe  will  eventually  unite  against 
Russia  if  things  drag  on  indefinitely. 

I  shall  not  be  surprised  if  the  Germans  are  in  front  of 
Paris  in  a  month.  Our  fellows  seem  to  have  fought  well. 

To  Miss  C.  Townshcnd. 

LINCOLN'S  INN.     i  September,  1914. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  your  letter  and  the  ripping 
photographs  of  the  children.  I  should  like  to  have  shown 
them  myself  as  a  Tommy. 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  189 

I  shall  be  glad  to  be  off  in  a  way.  An  awful  rush  of 
things  to-day.  Two  or  three  people  are  coming  up 
especially  from  the  provinces  to  see  me  this  evening, 
so  I  am  having  a  sort  of  beef-and-beer  feed  for  them 
and  others,  and  I'm  afraid  I  can't  get  away. 

I  hear  Territorials  are  already  going  to  such  places  as 
Malta,  so  I  expect  the  New  Army  ought  to  get  the  tough 
fighting  as  soon  as  we  are  trained. 

Philip  Reid,  who  fought  through  the  South  African  War, 
is  trying  to  get  into  a  Hussar  regiment  as  a  trooper.  I 
do  hope  every  one  who  can  enlist  will  do  so,  because  it 
would  be  such  a  fine  thing  to  beat  the  Germans  with 
Freiwillige,  and  it  seems  that  we  and  the  Russians  will 
have  to  do  the  beating  ;  the  French,  as  I  always  thought, 
are  not  nearly  as  tough  stuff.1  I  should  myself  like  to 
see  as  large  a  share  as  possible  of  the  victories  fall  to 
us,  and  after  us  the  Russians.  I  have  no  wish  to  aggrandize 
the  French.  The  Germans  would  have  been  in  Paris 
now  if  it  hadn't  been  for  our  fellows.  I  begin  to  feel 
more  friendly  towards  the  Russians — it  is  all  absolutely 
irrational — but  I  feel  the  French  have  let  us  down,  and 
I  don't  see  what  title  a  country  which  can't  defend  its 
own  frontiers  has  to  be  a  first-class  Power. 

I  can't  feel  any  hatred  against  the  Germans.      Germany 
will  remain  my  second  mother-country  always — unless  she       /- 
wins. 


To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

WATTS  COMMON,  ALDERSHOT. 

9  September,  1914. 

It  has  really  been  nothing  but  beer  and  skittles  so  far ; 
even  the  dullest  operations  have  been  tinged  with  novelty. 
We  are  now  gradually  getting  into  the  regular  Kitchener 
routine.  This  evening  it  has  been  raining,  and  one  has 
thereby  got  a  slight  foretaste  of  realities.  Crouching  in 

1  His  estimate  of  the  French  altered  very  considerably  when  he 
got  to  know  more  about  them,  but  he  never  lost  his  feeling  of 
kinship  and  affection  for  the  Germans. 


190  KEELING  LETTERS 

a  tent  in  the  rain  with  the  alternatives  of  a  crowded  canteen 
or  pub.  is  not  a  cheerful  job. 

One  feels  one  could  value  real  intimacy  in  such  circum- 
stances. Under  this  glorious  sky  and  in  this  scenery, 
and  with  all  the  varied  interests  of  the  new  life,  I  thought 
I  should  never  want  it.  I  am  not  really  any  more  inti- 
mate with  any  of  the  seven  Oxford  men  than  with  the 
many  friends  I  have  made  among  non-coms.,  old  soldiers, 
navvies,  painters,  shop  assistants,  and  all  sorts  of  fellows 
here.  My  opinion  of  the  human  race,  or  at  any  rate  of 
the  common  Englishman,  goes  steadily  up  from  being 
herded  with  him.  But  of  course  it  will  be  best  to  wait 
till  one  has  had  many  rainy  days  before  forming  a  final 
opinion  ;  it  has  been  nothing  but  a  picnic  so  far. 

We  are  now  finally  settled  in  our  battalions,  companies, 
and  sections.  We  are  the  6th  Battalion.  Our  orders 
are  to  be  ready  to  go  abroad  by  Christmas.  I  think  we 
shall  make  a  tough  battalion.  The  average  calibre  of  the 
fresh  recruits  is  good,  and  I  feel  confident  when  I  look 
along  my  platoon. 

I  spent  most  of  Sunday  helping  the  overworked  cooks 
by  cleaning  tins  and  chopping  wood,  and  it  has  put  me 
on  better  terms  with  the  old  hands  than  anything  else 
would  have  done. 

Kitchener  has  just  sent  word  that  all  extended  order 
drill  is  to  be  done  at  five  paces'  extension,  as  he  attributes 
the  heavy  casualties  in  France  partly  to  the  fact  that 
we  have  been  working  only  on  three  paces'  extension.  The 
training  seems  to  me  as  practical  and  to  the  point  as  it 
could  be.  .  .  . 

One  might  be  tolerably  happy  at  this  game  all  one's 
life,  but  one  can't  cast  out  the  personal  and  complicated 
from  one's  life  altogether.  The  view  over  Laffan's  Plain, 
on  which  we  drill,  and  the  sunset  and  delightful  early  misty 
mornings  bring  one  back  to  the  old  grubbing  in  one's  own 
wretched  soul.  However,  it's  a  long,  long  way  to  Tip- 
perary,  and  one's  soul  belongs  to  the  Army  as  well  as  one's 
body  pro  tern. 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  191 

To  Miss  C.  Townshcnd. 

WATTS  COMMON,  ALDERSHOT. 

20  September,   1914. 

I  have  had  some  ups  and  downs  lately.  Was  laid  up 
on  Saturday,  feeling  pretty  bad  as  a  result  of  inoculation. 
It  was  hours  before  I  could  see  a  doctor,  and  as  a 
tent-inspection  was  on,  I  had  to  lie  in  the  open  in  a  cold 
wind  most  of  the  morning.  However,  I  was  quite  all 
right  by  Monday.  Have  been  busy  since  then  trying 
to  get  an  article  written,  but  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
write.  I  got  something  done,  but  I  don't  think  it  is  worth 
publishing. 

Have  been  made  a  full  corporal  to-day.  I  am  not  over 
elated,  as  I  don't  feel  I  know  enough,  and  also  feel  that 
a  lot  of  the  other  lance-corporals  are  as  good  as  me 
or  better. 

I  have  got  quite  attached  to  the  Major  in  our  Company 
and  the  Subaltern  in  our  platoon,  have  got  to  know  them 
well,  as  a  private  or  non-com,  knows  an  officer,  and  I  would 
do  anything  for  them.  Our  platoon  sergeant  is  a  splendid 
fellow  and  it  will  be  damnable  if  he  goes. 

It  is  curious  how  easily  one  can  throw  oneself  into  the 
life  of  the  common  soldier,  not  be  moved  by  the  delightful 
scenery  one  passes  on  route  marches  or  the  splendid  sun- 
sets across  the  plain  or  the  wonderful  early  morning  mists, 
and  sink  either  depression  or  exaltation  in  a  sixpenny 
blow-out  in  a  Soldiers'  Home  (magnificent  places,  one 
couldn't  do  without  them).  I  have  practically  given 
up  both  smoking  and  drinking  alcohol  without  thinking 
about  it.  But  I  have  been  feeling  the  last  few  days  that 
one  must  keep  an  inner  life  going.  It  will  be  easier  as 
we  do  more  route-marching.  I  am  so  accustomed  to 
walking  that  I  can  think  then  more  peacefully  than 
anywhere  else  in  the  crowded  life  of  camp. 

I  am  strangely  isolated  without  feeling  at  all  lonely, 
and  find  myself  more  and  more  retiring  to  live  my  most 
real  life  with  my  own  thoughts.  I  have  knocked  about 
in  so  many  different  atmospheres  in  the  short  space  of 
my  life,  that  I  don't  find  that  the  mere  fact  that  people 


192  KEELING  LETTERS 

are  educated  makes  them  any  better  companions  for  me 
than  the  rough-and-ready  sort  of  workman,  unless  they 
are  educated  in  some  measure  within  the  circles  of  ex- 
perience and  thought  which  I  appreciate  myself. 

To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

WATTS  COMMON,  ALDERSHOT. 

27  September,  1914. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  sending  the  "  housewife."  It 
has  been  invaluable  to  me  to-day.  I  got  my  uniform 
this  morning — at  least,  coat  and  trousers  ;  caps  are  still 
unattainable.  The  trousers  are  new,  but  the  coat  has 
had  a  good  deal  of  wear  and  all  the  buttons  needed  sewing 
on,  in  addition  to  which  I  had  the  pleasurable  task  of 
sewing  on  my  stripes. 

Yesterday  we  were  inspected  by  the  King  in  the  morn- 
ing, in  the  afternoon  I  began  to  learn  semaphore  with 
the  regimental  sergeant-major,  and  in  the  evening  bayonet 
fighting.  It  is  extraordinary  what  a  lot  there  is  to  learn 
about  pigsticking  one's  fellow-men.  I  am  bad  at  it. 
I  was  canteen  corporal  yesterday,  which  means  a  sort 
of  official  pub  chucker-out.  I  think  I  am  less  qualified 
for  making  a  pub  chucker-out  than  for  any  other  job  on 
God's  earth,  and  I  was  rather  fearful,  as  I  had  never  been 
in  the  wet  canteen  here,  as  I  heard  the  beer  was  bad,  and 
also  haven't  wanted  any,  and  the  crowd  in  the  place  looked 
unattractive.  I  had  to  open  and  close  the  canteen  at 
the  right  hours  and  make  fellows  line  up  for  drinks  instead 
of  lighting  for  them,  and  turn  out  fellows  with  bayonets. 
I  stood  at  the  bar,  and  half  of  the  people  who  got  drinks 
offered  me  a  swipe  out  of  their  mugs  or  tins.  At  first 
it  seemed  like  corruption,  but  I  found  it  easier  to  get  fellows 
to  do  things  by  drinking  with  them  first,  and  the  sergeant 
over  me  seemed  to  take  it  as  a  matter  of  courser^o  I  must 
have  drunk  a  good  deal  during  the  time  I  was  on  duty. 
However,  I  am  so  fit  now  that  I  think  I  could  swallow 
several  quarts  of  canteen  beer  without  turning  a  hair. 
That  job  brought  me  up  against  a  rougher  type  of  man 
in  the  battalion  than  I  had  got  to  know  before.  They're 
all  right  if  you  remember  they  are  just  overgrown  children ; 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  193 

but  so  are  we  all  really.  Once  I  saw  there  was  not  likely 
to  be  any  occasion  to  use  my  fists  I  was  quite  at  ease.  I 
don't  mind  trying  to  fight  any  one  if  I  have  to,  but  I 
frankly  don't  want  to,  and  I  found  that  my  official  insignia 
(a  belt  and  bayonet,  which  only  the  man  on  canteen  duty 
may  wear  in  the  wet  canteen)  and  good-humour  were 
enough  to  carry  me  through. 

I  gathered  that  these  chaps  all  knew  me  as  "  Uncle  Sam," 
presumably  because  of  the  beard.  This  afternoon  I  found 
time  for  a  leisurely  cold  bath  in  a  wash-hut  in  the  sun. 
I  have  never  enjoyed  a  bath  so  much  in  my  life. 

Take  it  all  in  all,  this  is  a  fine  life.  I  feel  more  and  more 
that  all  these  young  fellows  will  be  far  finer  chaps  for  the 
experience,  whether  we  get  fighting  or  not.  The  worst 
of  it  is,  I  don't  see  how  any  system  of  collective  life  and 
discipline  could  really  equal  that  of  a  soldier  in  war-time. 
The  only  chance  lies  in  James's  idea  of  industrial  conscrip- 
tion, especially  applied  to  the  dangerous  trades. 

The  camp  was  a  fine  sight  this  afternoon,  a  series  of 
football  matches  between  the  companies,  impromptu 
miniature  range  firing,  bayonet  fighting,  and  tent-pitching 
and  rapid-firing  competitions  and  a  few  of  us  having  cold 
baths  in  the  sun.  It's  worth  a  good  deal  of  public  money 
to  give  us  all  that. 

To  the  Same. 

WATTS  COMMON,  ALDERSHOT. 

i   October,   1914. 

We  had  a  route  march  this  afternoon  and  practised 
outposts  this  morning.  I  am  pretty  tired.  I  sacrificed 
my  chance  of  tea  when  we  came  in  just  before  dark  for 
the  sake  of  getting  a  cold  bath,  and  have  just  eaten  three- 
penn'orth  of  rice  and  two  cups  of  cocoa  in  a  Soldiers'  Home 
and  I  feel  very  bloated.  I  have  heard  that  I  am  to  be 
made  a  sergeant  in  a  day  or  two.  It's  a  bit  previous, 
and  I  would  really  rather  go  on  as  I  am  for  a  bit.  I  am 
none  too  good  at  drill.  Also  I  don't  know  how  I  shall 
really  like  the  sergeants'  mess.  It  means  an  end  to  the 
old  meals  on  the  grass  outside  a  tent,  or  inside  in  bad 
weather,  and  a  sit-down  dinner.  The  sergeants  look  after 

14 


194  KEELING  LETTERS 

themselves  very  well.  Their  beer  is  better  than  in  the 
ordinary  wet  canteen,  and  they  say  that  they  get  better 
cooking  very  often  than  the  officers.  I  object  strongly 
to  the  principle  of  different  ranks  having  different  physical 
conditions,  though  I  think  there  might  well  be  a  bit  more 
Prussianism  in  the  discipline  of  the  Kitchener  Army  as 
it  is  at  present.  You  still  see  fellows  slouch  up  to 
officers  to  answer  questions  or  argue  with  superior 
sergeants. 

I  like  this  country  immensely.  There's  nothing  to  beat 
the  sombre  foreground  of  a  wood  of  Scotch  firs  against 
the  sky.  I  like  them  especially  in  our  early  morning 
marches,  when  the  sun  shines  through  the  mists  against 
the  trunks. 

I  was  orderly  corporal  this  morning,  which  means 
serving  out  the  dinner.  It  makes  me  sick  to  see  the  way 
in  which  I'homme  moyen  sensuel  will  fight  for  food  when 
there  is  really  plenty  to  give  every  one  a  good  meal. 
Frankly,  such  general  love  as  I  have  for  my  fellow-man 
oozes  away  when  I  see  him  behaving  as  a  "  struggle- 
for-lifer,"  as  we  call  the  worst  class  of  grabbers. 

To  the  Same. 

WATTS  COMMON,  ALDERSHOT. 

9  October,   1914. 

I  am  infernally  tired  to-night.  We  had  extra  stiff 
gymnastics  and  drilling  to-day,  and  I  stood  for  one  and 
a  half  hours  as  witness  at  the  pay-table  while  three  pla- 
toons were  paid,  which  tired  me  more  than  anything  else. 
I  drew  nineteen  shillings  myself  this  week,  and  feel  very 
rich.  I  have  got  a  cap  now.  I  got  it  by  buying  a  civilian 
cap  for  a  man  who  will  be  discharged  shortly,  and  I  hope 
to  get  putties  to-morrow.  It  is  rotten  not  being  dressed 
properly  when  you  are  a  sergeant. 

There  was  a  good  leading  article  by  Ensor  in  the  Chronicle 
on  "The  Education  of  Recruits."  The  difficulty  is  that 
the  N.C.O.'s  are  of  course  nearly  all  Regular  Army  men, 
very  fine,  but  not  with  much  idea  of  teaching  through 
the  mind.  I  don't  think  most  of  them  would  appreciate 
the  preliminary  talks  on  the  theory  of  drill  which  I  give 


SOLDIERING   IN   ENGLAND  195 

to  my  squad  when  I  am  trying  to  get  them  perfect  in  a 
movement. 

I  am  thinking  of  offering  to  take  a  class  in  German  in 
the  evenings. 

The  sergeants'  mess  is  the  finest  example  of  a  decent 
collectivist  spirit  in  a  body  of  men  living  in  common  I 
have  ever  found.  There  is  no  cliquiness,  no  backbiting 
or  discussing  other  sergeants  in  the  mess  behind  their 
backs.  How  many  College  common-rooms  could  you 
say  that  of  ?  After  all,  fellowship  is  life,  more  than  any- 
thing else  anyhow,  and  if  a  body  of  men  achieve  that,  much 
can  be  forgiven. 

It  is  a  tradition  throughout  sergeants'  messes  in  the 
Army,  they  tell  me.  It  really  is  a  genuine  freemasonry— 
much  more  than  among  commissioned  officers,  I  should 
say.  .  .  . 

I  was  in  charge  of  the  whole  wet  canteen  a  few  days 
ago  without  any  corporal  to  help.  It  really  is  the 
rottenest  job  of  all.  A  lot  of  policemen  and  cooks  tried 
to  make  a  bit  of  trouble  when  I  insisted  on  turning  out 
a  man  of  another  regiment  and  in  closing  to  time ;  but  I 
came  through  all  right  both  times. 

To  the  Same. 

ALDERSHOT.      15  October,   1914. 

.  .  .  The  rain  is  all  right  now  there  are  only  six  other 
men  in  my  tent,  and  all  of  those  sergeants,  and  also  in  view 
of  the  fact  that  there  is  the  sergeants'  mess  to  sit  in.  In 
fact,  I  was  not  sorry  to  have  a  sleep  yesterday  afternoon. 
We  had  a  brigade  route  march  for  the  first  time  yesterday 
morning.  One  battalion  each  of  the  Somersets,  Yorks, 
and  Durhams  make  up  a  brigade  with  us.  We  are  now 
beginning  musketry  and  trench-digging.  I  have  a  lot 
of  bets  on  in  the  sergeants'  mess  that  I  can  do  the 
5x3x2  trench  single-handed  in  the  regulation  hour. 
They  all  swear  it  can't  be  done,  but  I  fancy  myself  with 
a  pick  and  shovel,  and  I'm  damned  if  I  will  be  beaten  by 
the  Welsh  miner  we  have  got  in  "  C  "  Company. 

In  view  of  the  bad  news,  they  are  talking  of  sending  us 


196  KEELING  LETTERS 

to  France  as  soon  as  we  have  done  musketry.  The  thing 
I  like  least  about  the  war  are  these  tales  of  the  Russians 
being  blown  up  by  the  thousand  outside  Przemysl,  or 
whatever  they  call  that  Galician  fortress.  I  expect  the 
Germans  have  got  that  ready  for  us  on  the  Rhine.  How- 
ever, it  would  be  all  over  before  even  our  new  company 
officer  could  expect  us  to  do  "  eyelashes  right  chick  "  as 
we  call  it.  And  it's  a  long  way  to  the  Rhine,  as  things 
are  now. 

I  am  not  having  a  particularly  easy  time  just  now  in  our 
platoon ;  in  fact,  all  the  junior  non-commissioned  officers 
are  rinding  the  position  of  responsibility  without  proper 
authority  rather  trying. 

I  got  a  fellow  fined  three  days'  pay  to-day  and  thoroughly 
well  cursed  by  the  C.O.  for  insolence.  The  swine  then 
went  sick  before  afternoon  parade  without  reporting, 
so  he  has  been  nabbed  again ;  I  am  not  going  to  bring 
any  more  of  the  troublesome  fellows  up,  but  just  give  them 
squad  drill  until  they  are  ready  to  drop  without  saying 
a  word.  It  is  much  simpler  than  bothering  about  a  trial. 
They  are  mostly  clerks,  who  can  make  quite  good  soldiers  if 
they  like,  but  can't  drop  into  this  life  as  easily  as  either 
a  gentleman  or  a  rougher  sort  of  chap,  and  don't  like  being 
ordered  about  by  sergeants  who  are  of  a  rougher  type 
than  themselves.  They  are  as  bad  to  the  old  hands  as 
they  are  to  me. 

Friday  night. 

Been  trench-digging  this  afternoon — a  great  game ! 
I  shifted  more  dirt  in  the  time  than  any  one  else  in  my 
platoon.  It  being  pay-day,  there  is  a  lot  of  drunkenness. 
I  must  say  I  am  absolutely  sick  of  that  side  of  soldiering. 
It  isn't  as  if  the  fellows  got  drunk  once  in  a  way.  They 
drink  too  much  all  the  time  and  a  great  deal  too  much 
once  a  week,  and  then  grumble  at  not  being  able  to  keep 
up  at  the  marching.  Of  course  they  are  not  all  like  that. 
It  is  the  men  over  thirty-five  who  are  the  worst.  .  .  . 

I  wish  you  would  send  me  a  couple  of  volumes  of  Dickens 
—I  have  tramped  all  over  Aldershot  and  Farnborough  and 
can't  find  a  bookshop — and  a  couple  of  French  novels  too. 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  197 

I  have  found  a  few  chaps  who  want  to  learn  German, 
but  I  think  I  shall  start  entirely  without  books  in  an 
informal  way.  I  think  that  will  suit  them  and  this 
atmosphere  best. 


To  Miss  C.  Townshend. 

COLCHESTER.     25  October,  1914. 

I  have  been  having  the  time  of  my  life  here  among  old 
friends.  There  is  no  idea  in  a  normal  provincial  town 
that  soldiering  is  a  whimsical  or  abnormal  thing  to  go 
in  for,  and  the  way  in  which  the  town  has  pulled  together 
and  is  working  for  the  men  here  is  splendid.  I  think 
we  do  deserve  to  be  encouraged  ;  it's  all  very  well  for  a 
natural  ruffian  like  me,  but  a  lot  of  these  young  chaps 
are  not  very  happy,  and  only  a  small  number  get  the  fun 
of  obtaining  stripes.  I  saw  a  girl  in  Aldershot  selling 
stamps  to  the  men  lined  up  trying  to  get  into  the  post- 
office.  I  was  so  much  moved  that  I  felt  a  lump  in  my 
throat  and  went  up  and  down  two  or  three  times  wanting 
to  go  and  thank  her,  but  I  didn't  like  to.  It  is  fine  to  see 
the  large  number  of  institutes  and  social  rooms  they  have 
set  up  here  and  the  number  of  women  working  in  them. 
In  Aldershot  one  never  speaks  to  a  woman. 

I  am  very  glad  I  am  not  wholly  a  damned  de-localized 
intellectual.  I  feel  I  belong  here  to  Colchester  more 
than  anywhere.  This  is  the  England  I  am  going  to  fight 
for,  anyway.  At  least,  it  is  more  of  a  microcosm  of  the 
real  England  than  any  other  place  I  know  intimately. 

I  sat  talking  to  Mrs.  Green  this  afternoon,  and  in  my 
own  mind  passed  over  all  the  towns  where  I  know  people 
doing  things  and  factories  and  places.  I  know  none  of 
them  as  well  as  Colchester,  though  some  of  them  I  know 
a  good  deal  about.  It  was  satisfactory  to  feel  so  many 
links  to  one's  country,  a  kind  of  ferocious  love  of  it ;  though 
I  can't  get  up  any  animosity  against  Germans  and  have 
been  sticking  up  for  them  against  people  here,  except  as 
regards  their  incapacity  to  get  the  idea  of  letting  other 
people  have  their  own  soul,  and  their  rotten  "  Kultur " 
talk,  which  is  like  Oxford  intensified  ten  times  over. 


198  KEELING  LETTERS 

Well,  I  must  write  another  letter.  Have  been  picking 
the  best  walnuts  in  the  world  from  a  fine  old  tree  in  my 
garden  here.  I  have  got  a  plan  for  making  an  avenue 
of  walnut-trees  along  a  private  road  across  our  estate. 
To  plant  walnut-trees  is  to  confer  a  substantial  benefit 
on  humanity,  and  it's  a  good  way  to  lay  out  a  few  pounds. 
They  won't  grow  up  for  thirty  years,  but  they  will  be  a 
sort  of  memorial  of  the  Great  War  to  a  few  people,  and 
I  daresay  there  will  be  a  lot  of  kids  in  a  hundred  years' 
time  who  will  enjoy  climbing  about  them  as  I  enjoyed 
climbing  about  the  old  tree  at  the  bottom  of  our  garden. 
So  you  see  I  am  a  whole-hearted  sentimentalist  now,  a 
real  sentimental  soldier,  and  I  shan't  be  jogged  out  of  it 
by  any  bloody  enlightenment. 

Joan  was  not  the  least  impressed  by  my  uniform. 
She  didn't  seem  to  know  what  a  soldier  meant,  but  of 
course  that  is  not  taught  in  an  enlightened  household. 
I  don't  mean  to  be  nasty,  only  I  feel  the  contrast  with  my 
own  childhood.  I  daresay  the  new  ideas  are  right ; 
perhaps  if  all  kids  were  brought  up  not  to  play  at  soldiers 
like  good  little  Fabians,  they  wouldn't  want  to  play  at 
the  same  game  when  they  grew  up.  But  then  they  will 
never  get  the  particular  bite  on  the  apple  of  life  which 
I  have  had  the  last  two  months,  and,  by  Christ !  I  wouldn't 
change  places  with  them  even  if  I  am  going  to  be  popped 
to  glory  in  six  months. 

To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

SERGEANTS'  MESS, 

WATTS  COMMON,  ALDERSHOT. 

15  November,  1914. 

I  have  had  the  devil  of  a  week  of  it  as  company  orderly 
sergeant.  Up  any  time  after  5  a.m.,  and  tearing  about 
the  camp  in  rain  and  swamps  of  mud,  warning  fatigues 
and  musketry  parties,  compiling  endless  rolls  and  absentee 
reports,  calling  rolls,  acting  as  a  sort  of  magistrate's  clerk, 
jailer,  and  usher  rolled  into  one  when  men  come  up  for 
trial  at  orderly  room,  etc.,  in  addition  to  attending  orderly 
parades  and  being  in  charge  of  half  a  platoon  for  musketry. 
You  can  imagine  that  I  have  enjoyed  myself.  On  Friday 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  199 

night  we  suddenly  had  field  firing  put  on  our  company 
at  twelve  hours'  notice,  so  I  had  to  rout  all  our  lines  out 
of  bed  at  five  o'clock.  As  a  lot  of  them  had  been  frozen 
to  death  pretty  well  on  a  motor-lorry  when  on  fatigue  at 
Witley,  and  had  missed  most  of  their  grub,  they  were 
inclined  to  grumble,  but  I  am  learning  how  to  mix  discipline 
and  persuasion  and  flatter  myself  that  I  got  them  on 
parade  smarter  than  the  company  sergeant-major  would 
have  done. 

I  have  got  to  know  the  roughs  in  our  platoon  pretty  well 
—fellows  who  are  in  and  out  of  clink  regularly  for  drunk- 
enness and  answering  back  to  N.C.O.'s,  and  am  rather  proud 
of  the  fact  that  I  have  managed  to  get  on  good  terms  with 
them  and  at  the  same  time  got  some  control  over  them. 
It's  easy  enough  to  deal  with  the  cheekiness  of  young 
clerks  and  mechanics,  or  relatively  easy,  but  these  fellows 
lie  and  thieve  and  fight  as  part  of  their  everyday  life,  and 
are  as  slim  as  Old  Nick.  You  never  get  to  the  stage  of 
really  trusting  them,  but  you  can  establish  working 
relations  with  them  by  expedients  which  seem  almost 
childish,  silly  jokes  and  a  kind  of  assumed  (for  me)  music- 
hall,  pub-loafing  heartiness.  It's  acting,  of  course,  but 
I  come  to  feel  more  and  more  that  all  leadership  is  in  a 
way  acting,  conscious  or  unconscious.  Only,  like  Beer- 
bohm's  "  Happy  Hypocrite,"  after  a  time  you  become 
the  character  you  act,  whether  it  is  a  sergeant  in  the 
D. C.L.I.,  or  a  popular  politician,  or  a  music-hall  character, 
or  a  barrister.  There  is  very  little  difference  in  the  quality 
of  any  of  the  parts. 

I  am  as  happy  as  ever  at  this  job.  I  have  read  Shaw's 
Statesman  supplement  with  enormous  joy.  It  renews 
his  old  spell  over  me  completely.  It  is  so  magnificently 
sane.  Of  course,  I  disagree  at  some  points — for  instance, 
his  Fabian  contempt  for  the  Army.  All  civilians  assume 
soldiers  are  fools  until  they  have  been  soldiers  themselves. 
I  did  the  same,  but  the  idea  makes  me  savage  now.  Also, 
whatever  may  be  the  moral  or  immoral  results  of  war 
itself  on  actual  belligerents,  training  for  war  in  time  of 
war  is  the  greatest  game  and  the  finest  school  for  men  in 
the  world. 


200  KEELING  LETTERS 

Like  most  of  the  sergeants  who  talk  about  the  thing 
at  all,  I  honestly  expect  to  be  plugged  out  when  we  get 
over  the  water,  and  in  the  occasional  moments  when  one 
thinks  of  things  in  general  at  all  it  puts  them  in  their  right 
proportion.  The  one  thing  that  is  clear  is  that  it  is  no 
good  fussing  too  much  about  life.  One  ought  to  regard 
the  whole  world  just  as  one  regards  our  camp — a  collective 
adventure  in  which  you  have  just  got  to  help  each  other 
out  as  best  you  can.  There's  nothing  else  about  it.  The 
question  whether  there  is  anything  beyond  this  life  or  not 
really  makes  very  little  difference  to  the  only  possible 
reasonable  and  decent  philosophy  of  conduct  which  a  man 
can  have.  Above  all,  it  is  no  use  being  too  solemn,  even 
if  you  are  a  bit  solemn  by  nature,  as  I  am.  I  make  no 
secret  of  my  religious  opinions  here.  We  had  a  fire- 
worshipper  (Parsee)  among  our  recruits,  subsequently 
discharged  for  ill-health.  He  used  to  take  a  mat  and 
pray  at  the  canal  side  at  sunrise.  They  were  talking 
about  him  in  the  sergeants'  mess.  I  said  that  the  sun 
was  as  good  a  god  to  worship  as  any  other.  The  simple 
Homeric  old  regimental  sergeant-major,  who  organizes 
a  Church  Parade  to  absolute  perfection  in  the  last  detail, 
said,  "  Yes,  I  expect  you'll  get  as  much  answer  to  your 
prayer  there  as  in  any  other  quarter."  I  can't  get  over 
the  irony  of  that  Church  Parade.  Why  can't  men 
stand  up  collectively  to  the  facts  of  life  ?  We  don't  know 
about  the  beyond  ;  all  we  know  is  that  there  is  honour 
and  dishonour  here  and  now,  even  if  the  shrapnel  is  the 
end  of  everything  for  me  and  the  cooling  of  the  earth  the 
end  of  all  things  for  the  particular  ants  who  call  them- 
selves men. 

To  Miss  C.  Townshend. 

WITLEY  CAMP.     27  November,  1914. 

Am  enjoying  firing  my  course  of  musketry  huge.y. 
Succeeded  in  getting  seven  bulls  in  succession  to-day 
amidst  roars  of  applause  from  my  platoon  in  the  rear, 
and  have  done  better  than  several  of  the  other  sergeants 
the  last  two  days,  though  I  made  a  bad  start. 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  201 

We  were  firing  at  300  yards  to-day.  If  it  had  been 
Germans  instead  of  targets  a  good  many  of  my  shots  would 
have  laid  a  man  low.  Old  Philip  Reid  came  down  to  see 
me  to-day.  He  is  on  leave. 

It  is  very  fine  of  a  man  of  his  age  (forty-five)  to  go  as 
a  trooper.  He  is  enjoying  it  hugely.  We  agree  very 
much  about  our  view  of  Army  life.  Neither  of  us  has 
any  desire  for  a  commission.  If  ever  I  do  take  one  it  will 
be  from  a  sense  of  duty.  The  sergeants'  mess  is  really 
the  most  congenial  atmosphere  I  have  ever  livecj  in.  I 
like  it  more  and  more.  I  am  absolutely  at  ease  here 
and  begin  automatically  to  say  "  was  "  for  "  were  "  and 
drop  my  h's.  Why  should  I  go  and  bother  about 
being  a  gentleman  ?  It's  a  strain  to  me  in  a  different 
way  from  what  it  would  be  to  an  ordinary  sergeant,  but 
still  a  strain.  I  am,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  on  fairly  intimate 
terms  with  all  the  officers  in  my  company  and  with  some 
others.  For  everyday  companionship  I  honestly  prefer 
the  sergeants.  They  really  are  nearer  me  than  the  officers, 
though  I  respect  and  like  practically  all  of  those  whom 
I  know.  I  feel  myself  getting  more  and  more  of  a  personal 
influence  over  my  platoon.  Why  should  I  throw  all  that 
away  ?  I  know  that  even  now  they  would  follow  me 
anywhere  under  fire.  It  is  a  big  thing  to  feel  that,  and 
I  feel  more  and  more  attached  to  them  individually  ;  they 
get  to  know  my  ways.  I  expect  more  than  most  sergeants 
here  on  parade,  and  in  return  there  is  nothing  I  won't  do 
for  them  off  parade. 

But  I  must  be  off  to  bed — breakfast  6.30  a.m. 

My  platoon  is  firing  better  than  any  other.  These 
clerks  and  young  mechanics  and  shop  assistants  will  beat 
the  slum  roughs  at  most  things  ;  mine  is  by  far  the  most 
civilized  platoon  in  the  company. 

To  Mrs.  Toivnshcnd. 

WITLEY  CAMP.     19  December,  1914. 

Just  got  the  Regimental  Magazine  off  my  hands.  It 
is  to  appear  on  Monday.  I  am  on  canteen  duty  to-morrow, 
but  I  think  I  can  be  out  of  camp  from  2  to  7.30,  which 


202  KEELING  LETTERS 

will  give  me  time  to  walk  over  to  see  you.  I  am  rather 
keen  to  make  something  of  the  Magazine.  Of  course, 
a  lot  of  it  has  to  be  stuff  that  doesn't  appeal  to  me  much  ; 
still,  one  can  make  it  as  good  as  possible  of  its  kind. 

Just  been  having  rather  an  interesting  talk  in  the  mess 
with  several  old  sergeants.  I  like  the  life  in  the  huts 
enormously.  It  is  queer  how  one  gets  more  and  more 
attached  to  the  regiment.  It  is  a  real  home  to  me.  If 
it  weren't  for  drink,  I  think  it  would  be  as  fine  a  way  of 
organizing  the  ways  of  life  for  men  as  could  be  found.  I 
am  rather  looking  forward  to  Christmas  here.  It  will 
be  rather  fun  in  the  mess.  We  have  just  got  a  draft  of 
recruits,  the  first  we  have  had.  The  half-dozen  allotted 
to  my  platoon  are  very  nice  fellows,  including  a  little  Welsh 
pit-boy  who  is  an  amusing  little  lad. 

I  rather  expect  we  shall  go  as  a  whole  Division  to  help 
in  a  big  move  in  the  spring  I  liked  the  R.A.M.C.  man's 
letter  in  the  Times  to-day.  I  believe  the  loathsome, 
vitriolic  hatred  of  the  Germans  is  confined  to  journalists 
and  civilian  intellectuals.  I  doubt  if  it  exists  among 
the  men  who  have  got  to  face  the  bullets. 

To  the  Same. 

April,   1915. 

I  grow  more  and  more  convinced  of  the  Tightness  of  our 
side  in  this  war — not,  I  think,  merely  because  I  have  be- 
come so  definitely  and  closely  associated  with  the  fighters, 
but  by  honest  conviction  and  without  any  hatred  of  Ger- 
mans as  such.  I  don't  think  an  average  man  can  be  sure 
of  being  sane  about  this  business  unless  he  knows  he  is 
going  to  face  death  like  the  rest ;  this  may  seem  prejudiced, 
but  I  think  there  is  something  in  it.  As  the  days  draw 
nearer  and  nearer  for  going,  one  gets  a  more  and  more 
realistic  sense  of  values  in  life,  and  on  the  political  as 
opposed  to  the  individual  side  English  liberty  is  certainly 
one  of  them.  I  can't  help  thinking  more  than  most  men 
about  the  first  near  screech  of  the  shells  while  one  is  lying 
in  the  bloody  mud,  or  the  first  near  glimpse  of  a  German 
uniform — perhaps  through  the  trees  when  one  is  scouting, 
and  it's  all  a  matter  of  touch  and  go  whether  you  or  he 


SOLDIERING   IN  ENGLAND  203 

shoot  first,  or  (remembering  the  textbook  maxims)  try 
to  hide  so  as  not  reveal  yourself — your  heart  beating  like 
a  bloody  engine  all  the  time  (it  does  even  when  one  is 
on  manceuvres).  I  think  I  have  more  than  the  average 
amount  of  cowardice  in  me.  But,  by  God,  what  a  thing 
to  have  lived  through,  if  one  does  live  through  it ! 

What  a  brotherhood  there  will  be  between  all  those  who 
shared  the  experience !  I  shan't  be  much  of  a  political 
or  Labour  Socialist  after  this  war — am  not  much  of  one 
now — but  I  am  more  and  more  keen  on  the  practical  Social- 
ism of  a  living  and  continuous  wage,  and  I  think  these 
pensions  and  separation  allowances  will  do  probably  more 
than  anything  to  raise  the  nation's  conception  of  the 
standard  of  life  of  the  workers 

Must  stop  now  to  rush  off — up  at  5  a.m.  to-morrow. 


EARLY    DAYS' 
BY  A  RECRUIT  (F.  H.  K.) 

There  is  no  surer  method  of  escape  from  excitement 
over  the  war  than  enlistment  in  Kitchener's  Army.  Ever 
since  the  moment  three  weeks  ago  when  I  swore  to  defend 
His  Majesty  George  V  and  his  successors  from  all  their 
enemies,  the  direct  impressions  of  life  as  a  recruit  have 
almost  completely  effaced  all  feverish  interest  in  the  actual 
progress  of  the  war.  The  campaign  is  scarcely  ever  dis- 
cussed in  our  camp  ;  we  are  certainly  less  well-informed 
about  it  than  any  average  aggregation  of  two  thousand 
civilians.  News  of  the  casualties  amongst  the  battalion  of 
our  own  regiment  at  the  front  creates  as  much  interest  as 
any  large  movement  of  the  Allied  Armies.  It  is  more 
related  to  our  daily  life,  both  because  the  regiment  is  a 
very  present  reality  in  the  consciousness  of  the  slackest  of 
us  and  also  because  it  may  affect  our  chance  of  going 
abroad  to  fill  up  gaps  in  the  ranks. 

As  one  of  a  party  originally  numbering  three,  I  made 
a  preliminary  visit  to  the  Scotland  Yard  Recruiting  Station 

»  From  the  Xeiv  Statesman,  26  September,   1914. 


204  KEELING  LETTERS 

before  actually  being  sworn  in.  Each  of  us  was  about 
six  feet  high,  and  we  were  at  first  pressed  by  the  recruiting 
officer  to  enlist  in  the  Guards.  '  That's  the  place  for 
fine  young  fellows  like  you,"  he  said.  We  were  flattered, 
but  deterred  by  imaginary  visions  of  pipeclay  and  cere- 
monial drill.  As  we  were  all  moved  by  a  terror  of  horses, 
the  cavalry  was  out  of  the  question.  I  had  a  weakness 
for  artillery,  but  a  musician  in  the  party  objected  to  being 
deafened.  We  therefore  decided  by  a  method  of  ex- 
clusion on  the  infantry.  "  Well,  then,"  said  the  recruiting 
officer,  "  why  not  try  a  county  light  infantry  regiment  ? 
You'll  like  it  better  than  a  regiment  recruited  from  London 
or  a  big  town."  (Light  infantry,  I  may  remark,  march  at 
140  to  the  minute,  instead  of  the  120  of  an  ordinary  line 
regiment.)  We  hit  more  or  less  by  accident  on  the 

—shire  Light  Infantry,  and  four  days  later  returned  to 
Scotland  Yard  at  8.45  a.m.  for  the  purpose  of  being 
sworn  'in.  In  connection  with  the  preliminaries  to  this 
process  some  of  us  protested  against  the  official  system 
of  religious  classification.  "  What  religion  ?  "  said  the 
inquiry  clerk.  "  No  religion,"  I  replied  firmly.  "  Come, 
come,  you  must  have  some  religion,"  he  urged.  "  Well, 
atheist,  if  you  like,"  I  said.  "  That  isn't  a  religion,"  he 
said.  I  didn't  want  to  clog  the  machine,  so  I  said, 
"Well,  you  can  call  me  a  bit  of  a  Unitarian,  if  you  like." 
(After  all,  any  one  can  be  "a  bit  of  a  Unitarian.") 
"  Well,  I'll  write  in  '  Unitarian  '  specially  to  oblige  you," 
he  said,  "  but  that  isn't  really  in  the  list  either."  As 
we  don't  attend  Church  Parade  till  we  get  our  uniforms, 
I  have  not  yet  discovered  what  provision  the  Army  makes 
for  Unitarians.  To  avoid  trouble  I  have  decided  in  the 
last  resort  to  go  with  the  Presbyterians.  But,  seriously, 
why  cannot  an  English  soldier  at  this  time  of  day  be 
avowedly  a  Freethinker  ? 

After  being  sworn  in  and  receiving  our  first  day's  pay 
(one  and  ninepence),  we  were  sent  off  to  the  regimental 

depot  at  P ,  a  train  journey  of  some  seven  hours. 

Before  starting  we  each  received  sixpence  ration  money, 
but  sixpence  does  not  go  far  in  a  railway  refreshment-room. 
Fortunately,  when  we  arrived  at  -  —  a  committee  of 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  205 

ladies  of  the  town  provided  us  with  an  excellent  supper  at 
the  station.  After  three  cheers  for  our  hosts,  we  marched 
up  to  the  barracks,  received  a  blanket,  and  then  marched 
back  to  the  local  assembly  rooms.  There  the  Major  in 
charge  of  the  depot  addressed  us.  He  explained  that 
the  accommodation  in  the  barracks  was  intended  for  less 
than  two  hundred  men,  but  that  over  two  thousand  were 
on  his  hands.  He  appealed  to  us,  for  the  sake  of  the 
honour  of  the  regiment,  not  to  wreck  the  hall — a  feat  which 
he  evidently  expected  us  to  perform.  Of  course,  the  place 
was  in  a  state  of  pandemonium  even  before  the  Major 
had  finished,  and  when  the  lights  were  put  out  the  high- 
spirited  youth  of  Poplar  and  Stepney  only  substituted 
cat-calls  for  conversation  across  the  hall.  I  did  not  expect 
a  wink  of  sleep.  But  the  noise  did  gradually  subside, 
in  spite  of  repeated  cheers  at  the  offer  of  a  sergeant  to 
fight  any  one  who  wanted  to  speak.  Actually  I  slept 
well  and  woke  to  the  sound  of  an  impromptu  game  of 
football  in  the  road  outside.  We  fared  better  than  the 
thousand  or  so  recruits  in  the  barracks,  many  of  whom 
slept  on  the  grass  under  trees.  But  those  did  best  who, 
as  they  put  it,  "  went  in  for  a  billeting  job  "  in  the  town. 
For  breakfast  we  obtained  loaves  of  bread,  torn  up  at  ease 
on  the  grass,  and  rumours  of  butter  and  tea.  The  dinner 
was  an  excellent  stew  of  beef  and  potatoes.  Few  of  us 
could  obtain  knives  or  forks,  but  a  hungry  man  can  dis- 
pense with  these.  Tea  a  good  many  of  us  missed  owing 
to  the  prolongation  of  the  medical  inspection,  but  for 
threepence  one  could  buy  an  excellent  meal  of  cocoa,  corned 
beef,  and  bread  in  the  canteen. 

Every  one  wanted  to  got  away  from  P .      We  were 

lucky  enough  to  spend  only  two  nights  there.  Some  of 
our  comrades  loafed  and  scrambled  for  food  for  five  days. 
To  the  lay  mind  it  is  not  clear  why  we  were  sent  three 
hundred  miles  from  London  and  then,  equally  unequipped 
and  untrained,  another  two  or  three  hundred  miles  to 

K .      But    "  you   must   all   go   through   the   depot  " 

there  is  no  getting  behind  that.  Arrived  at  K—  -  in 
a  special  train,  we  found  ourselves  almost  the  last  de- 
tachment in  a  camp  of  2,300  men,  nearly  all  recruits 


206  KEELING  LETTERS 

from  London  and  Birmingham.  The  first  night  in  the 
camp  is  as  indelibly  stamped  on  my  memory  as  the  first 

night   in   P .      Our  party  of  ten   friends  had  secured 

a  tent  to  ourselves  and  were  mostly  asleep,  when  suddenly 
a  head  appeared  in  the  aperture.  "  Who  are  you  ?  " 
we  asked.  "  Well,  they  calls  me  Joe,"  replied  a  voice, 
"  but  I  am  the  Police.  Are  you  all  right  ?  "  "  Yes, 
we're  all  right."  "  Have  you  got  any  whisky  ?  " 
Unfortunately  we  hadn't.  "  What  do  the  Police  do  at 
night  ?  "  I  asked,  being  eager  to  lose  no  opportunity  of 
extending  my  military  knowledge.  "  Well,"  said  Joe, 
"  we  mostly  'unts  the  bushes  for  women,  and  f oilers  the 
sound  of  our  own  footsteps  round  the  camp  "  And  then 
followed  an  illuminating  disquisition  on  the  ins  and  outs 
of  military  discipline  which  kept  us  in  roars  of  laughter 
for  an  hour,  until  Joe  became  rather  too  muddled  and 
was  finally  induced  to  depart. 

In  the  course  of  a  fortnight  we  have  certainly  made 
some  progress  in  the  way  of  transformation  from  a  rabble 
into  a  military  unit.  After  two  or  three  days  the  task 
of  serious  training  began.  Reveille  is  at  6  a.m.,  parade 
at  7,  breakfast  at  8,  morning  parade  from  9  to  I,  and  after- 
noon parade  from  2  to  5.  The  training  in  Kitchener's 
Army  must  strike  every  one  as  being  above  all  practical 
and  to  the  point,  at  any  rate  in  a  battalion  which  is  so 
fortunate  in  its  nucleus  of  trained  officers  and  sergeants 
as  our  own.  Little  time  is  wasted  in  ceremonial  drill. 
The  number  of  formal  rifle  exercises  to  be  learned  is  reduced 
to  an  absolute  minimum.  Extended  order  drill,  taking 
cover,  and  skirmishing  are  practised  almost  from  the  first 
day  of  training.  And  we  are  already  becoming  proficient 
in  certain  new  movements  which  have  been  devised  in 
order  to  meet  special  features  of  the  tactics  adopted  by 
the  Germans  during  the  present  war,  and  on  which  the 
commanding  officer  gave  an  excellent  lecture  to  all  officers 
and  N.C.O.'s.  Special  arrangements  are  made  for  train- 
ing fresh  N.C.O.'s.  The  regimental  sergeant-major,  whom 
we  all  regard  as  the  perfect  type  of  soldier — and  who  is  in 
addition  almost  the  most  perfect  physical  specimen  of  a 
man  I  have  ever  seen — instructs  a  special  class  of  about 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  207 

thirty  lance-corporals  and  possible  lance-corporals  every 
afternoon  and  evening  on  such  subjects  as  musketry, 
judging  distance,  patrols,  and  bivouacking.  Judging  dis- 
tance, by  the  way,  is  the  point  upon  which  most  emphasis 
is  placed  in  our  training,  and  we  have  all  laid  to  heart 
the  regimental  sergeant-major's  dictum  that  after  this 
war  it  will  be  considered  more  important  than  accuracy 
in  firing. 

But  the  progress  in  the  securing  of  discipline  has  on  the 
whole  been  less  than  that  in  technical  training.  There 
is  a  perpetual  chatter  in  platoons  which  are  supposed  to 
be  standing  or  marching  at  attention,  and  a  pestilent 
minority  of  slackers  only  intermittently  trouble  to  keep 
in  step  on  the  march.  Several  men  have  taken  French 
leave  for  two  or  three  days,  and  only  been  punished  by 
loss  of  pay.  Probably  a  majority  of  the  battalion  would 
welcome  a  tightening  up  of  discipline  in  most  directions. 

Much  has  been  written  about  the  hardships  which  have 
been  suffered  by  the  recruits.  I  cannot  say  that  I  think 
that  any  man  in  my  battalion  has  experienced  any  physical 
hardship  for  which  a  recruit  ought  not  to  be  prepared 
under  existing  conditions.  The  food  is  excellent,  if  some- 
what monotonous.  I  have  lived  on  it  without  spending 
more  than  a  few  pence  a  day  on  luxuries — as  often  as 
not  consisting  merely  of  a  pennyworth  or  two  of  fruit. 
The  only  really  serious  criticisms  which  might  be  directed 
against  the  physical  conditions  under  which  we  live  relate 
to  the  sanitary  arrangements.  The  non-commissioned 
officers  have  a  healthy  terror  of  enteric,  but  the  lack  of 
discipline  in  the  battalion  reflects  itself  in  the  failure  to 
enforce  the  orders  and  instructions  issued  with  a  view 
to  keep  the  camp  healthy.  One  cannot  help  feeling  that 
a  little  more  zeal  in  the  enforcement  of  sanitary  rules  and 
the  provision  of  the  means  of  enforcing  them  would  be 
more  to  the  point  than  the  mechanical  insistence  on  double 
inoculation  against  enteric.  The  arrangements  for  wash- 
ing are  also  miserably  inadequate.  But  there  has  been 
nothing  really  outrageous  in  any  of  these  things.  As  far 
as  concerns  our  battalion,  indignation  may  best  be  reserved 
for  the  shameful  delays  in  providing  for  the  wives  and 


208  KEELING  LETTERS 

children  of  recruits  owing  to  the  failure  to  issue  that  strange 
fetish  the  regimental  number,  without  which  apparently 
no  payments  to  dependents  can  be  made.  For  a  fort- 
night a  constant  stream  of  anxious  men  was  inquiring 
of  every  one  in  authority  about  separation  allowances. 
Fortunately,  most  of  the  families  now  seem  to  be  receiving 
their  allowances.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  War  Office 
has  devised  means  for  preventing  the  recurrence  of  such 
delays  among  the  new  units  which  are  being  created  every 
week. 

IN    KITCHENER'S    ARMY' 
BY  A  SEPTEMBER  RECRUIT  (F.  H.  K.) 

I 

After  three  months  of  soldiering  one  is  something  of  a 
veteran  in  the  New  Army.  The  last  shadows  of  one's 
civilian  past  have  long  since  faded  away.  For  a  month 
after  enlisting  I  scarcely  spoke  to  a  civilian  except  occa- 
sionally to  shop  assistants  or  hawkers  in  the  course  of 
making  small  purchases.  I  have  only  once  been  away 
from  camp  for  a  night  and  slept  in  a  bed.  In  so  far  as 
I  think  of  the  future  at  all  it  is  on  my  possible  experiences 
as  a  soldier  that  I  reflect.  But  I  have  been  too  exhilarated 
to  think.  I  have  certainly  never  in  my  life  experienced 
more  continuous  cheerfulness  and — in  the  truest  sense  of 
the  word — more  happiness  than  in  these  three  months. 
The  sense  of  physical  fitness  ;  the  exhilaration  of  a  col- 
lective regimental  life ;  the  constant  opportunities  for 
the  formation  of  new  friendships  with  men  of  widely 
varying  experiences  ;  the  congeniality  of  a  life  which  is 
communistic  in  just  the  aspects  in  which  communism 
is  convenient  and  stimulating  ;  the  variety  of  the  work 
(which  does  not  seem  to  me  personally  to  lose  its  sense 
of  freshness  and  novelty  to  any  extent),  and  last  but  not 
least,  the  humorous  aspects  of  one's  own  and  one's  com- 
rades' activities,  all  combine  to  expel  the  baneful  elements 
1  From  the  New  Statesman,  5  December,  1914. 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  209 

of  existence.  I  may  possibly  live  to  think  differently ; 
but  at  the  present  moment,  assuming  this  war  had  to 
come,  I  feel  nothing  but  gratitude  to  the  gods  for  sending 
it  in  my  time.  Whatever  war  itself  may  be  like,  pre- 
paring to  fight  in  time  of  war  is  the  greatest  game  and 
the  finest  work  in  the  world. 

I  may  have  been  particularly  fortunate  in  my  experi- 
ences.    I  was  lucky  enough  to  become  a  lance-corporal  after 
about  a  fortnight's  service,  a  corporal  a  week  later,  and 
finally  to  find  myself  the  only  raw  recruit  in  the  sergeants' 
mess  of  my  battalion,  where  active-service  medals  are  the 
rule  rather  than  the  exception.      And  thus,   in   addition 
to    going   through    the    necessarily  varied    experiences   of 
a  compressed  military  training,  I  have  found  myself  con- 
stantly undertaking  various  auxiliary  jobs  which  no  one 
so  lately  a  civilian  and  with  a  glimmering  of  humour  could 
fail  to  enjoy.      Who,  for  instance,  would  not  swell  with 
pride,  in  spite  of  an  inward  smile  at  himself,  when  execut- 
ing the  duty  of  fetching  a  drunken  deserter  from  a  civilian 
police-station  and    marching    him   to  the  railway  station 
under   escort    through   the  streets  of  Battersea  ?      When 
your  turn  comes  to  act  as  battalion  orderly  sergeant  a 
really   exciting   day   is   in   store   for   you.      The   "  B.O.," 
as  he  is  familiarly  termed,  supervises  the  issue  of  all  meals 
along   with   the   orderly   officer ;    and   an   enthusiast   can 
find   plenty   to    do   in   dealing   with   complaints,    keeping 
orderly  corporals  and  tent  orderlies  up  to  the  mark,  and 
so  on.     After   breakfast  you  see  that  the  sick  get  "  fell 
in  "  by  companies  to  the  sound  of  a  bugle,  order  them 
to   spring  smartly  to  attention,   parade  them  before  the 
medical   officer,    and    watch   carefully   to   see   that    those 
awarded  "  light  duty  "  or  "  medicine  and  duty  "  do  not 
slip    through    the    meshes    of    the    disciplinary    net.     But 
you  reach  the  summit  of  your  glory  as  B.O.  when  at  10.15 
a.m.   you  proceed  to  accompany  the  commanding  officer 
round  camp.      The  second-in-command,  the  adjutant,  the 
quartermaster,  the  regimental  sergeant-major,  the  pioneer 
sergeant   and  the  B.O.   conduct  a  tour  in  every  quarter 
of  the  camp,  which  amounts  to  an  amateur,  but  severely 
practical,    sanitary   inspection.      The   talk   is   of   coagula- 

15 


210  KEELING  LETTERS 

tions  of  flies,  the  pursuit  of  lice,  ventilation,  refuse  dis- 
posal, and  the  general  cleanliness  of  tents  and  lines — as 
regards  which  tent  prizes  for  tidiness  have  achieved  a 
certain  measure  of  success. 

But  the  office  of  battalion  orderly  sergeant  is  an  orna- 
mental sinecure  compared  with  that  of  company  orderly 
sergeant,  which  is  held  for  a  week  continuously  by  each 
of  the  sergeants  and  full  corporals  in  the  company.  The 
company  orderly  sergeant  calls  the  roll  at  reVeilte  and  at 
first  post,  and  is  responsible  for  reporting  all  absentees. 
This  is  no  light  task  in  a  battalion  of  the  New  Army  under 
canvas.  The  company  orderly  sergeant  has  further  to 
warn  personally  all  men  who  are  placed  on  special  duties 
and  fatigues.  I  have  had  to  hunt  out  as  many  as  eighty 
men  between  8.45  p.m.  and  7  a.m.  for  this  purpose.  He 
also  compiles  lists  of  and  hands  out  all  passes  at  the  hour 
at  which  they  become  effective — I  have  calculated  that 
the  value  of  my  pay  as  sergeant,  in  cash,  kind,  and  allow- 
ances, is  considerably  over  two  pounds  a  week,  and  have 
wondered  at  times  whether  I  was  not  overpaid.  But 
after  a  week  as  company  orderly  sergeant  in  a  camp  alter- 
nately boggy  with  rain  and  stiff  with  frost,  I  felt  that 
my  money  was  well  earned. 

The  light  infantry  battalion  to  which  I  belong  consists 
mainly  of  raw  recruits  from  London  and  Birmingham, 
with  a  few  score  Welshmen,  mostly  miners,  and  a  sprinkling 
of  natives  of  the  remote  county  which  gives  its  name  to 
our  regiment.  Including  the  forty  odd  sergeants  there 
are  over  a  hundred  old  or  serving  soldiers  in  the  battalion. 
There  are  a  fair  number  of  men  of  middle-class  origin 
in  the  ranks,  and  about  ten  of  these  have  been  given  com- 
missions, mostly  in  other  battalions  of  the  New  Army. 
There  are  very  noticeable  differences  between  the  char- 
acters of  individual  tents  or  individual  platoons  corre- 
sponding to  the  origin  of  the  predominant  type  of  men  in 
them.  For  instance,  my  own  platoon  consists  mainly 
of  young  clerks  and  mechanics,  while  the  platoon  which 
occupies  the  tents  at  the  top  of  the  lines  is  composed  of 
a  much  rougher  and  possibly,  in  certain  respects,  tougher 
type  of  man.  A  battalion  of  recruits  of  the  most  hetero- 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  211 

geneous  type  acquires  a  sense  of  unity  and  common  pride 
in  a  very  short  time.  But  this  is  only  one  element  in  the 
creation  of  a  trained  military  unit.  How  far  we  have 
really  gone  in  the  direction  of  becoming  a  fighting  force 
comparable  to  British  Regular  Army  standards  I  am  not 
capable  of  judging.  But  we  can  certainly  already  be 
regarded  as  an  actual  military  unit  of  some  immediate 
value  for  fighting  purposes,  and  if  we  spend  the  next  two 
months  in  field  work  and  in  preparing  for  and  firing  another 
course  of  musketry,  we  should  be  capable  of  doing  credit 
to  the  traditions  of  the  British  Army  in  the  firing-line. 

One  not  unimportant  point  in  the  organization  of  the 
New  Army  has  been  repeatedly  impressed  upon  me  ever 
since  I  enlisted.  The  policy  of  mixing  a  few  score  re- 
servists (other  than  sergeants  or  ex-non-commissioned 
officers  likely  to  be  capable  of  doing  sergeant's  work)  with 
a  battalion  of  raw  recruits  has  not  been  justified  by  its 
results.  There  appear  to  have  been  two  ideas  underlying 
the  policy.  It  is  natural  to  assume  that  a  sprinkling  of 
veterans  will  stiffen  the  quality  of  a  recently  recruited 
fighting  force  on  active  service.  And  on  paper  it  seems 
an  excellent  plan  to  keep  a  certain  number  of  trained 
veterans  in  a  new  battalion  for  the  purpose  of  undertaking 
the  work  of  cooks,  pioneers,  sanitary  squad,  etc.,  and 
thus  enabling  the  untrained  men  to  be  constantly  on  parade. 
But  in  practice  these  advantages  prove  to  be  very  doubtful, 
and,  in  any  case,  are  counterbalanced  by  the  constant 
trouble  caused  by  the  old  soldiers  from  the  disciplinary 
point  of  view.  The  offences  for  which  the  old  soldiers 
have  been  responsible  have  been  out  of  all  proportion 
to  their  number  in  the  battalion.  They  have  con- 
stantly been  under  arrest,  mainly  for  drunkenness  and  for 
absence  without  leave,  and  it  is  certain  that  they  have, 
directly  and  indirectly,  made  it  more  difficult  to  build  up 
systematic  discipline  in  the  whole  battalion.  Moreover, 
it  is  not  easy  for  an  average  young  lance-corporal,  acting 
as  a  section  leader  after  perhaps  two  months'  service,  to 
control  effectively  two  or  three  rough  old  soldiers  who  have 
come  back  after  five  or  more  years  in  civil  life.  The  fact 
is  that  many  of  these  men  seem  to  possess  the  essential 


212  KEELING  LETTERS 

qualities  of  the  soldier  to  a  less  degree  than  many  of  the 
young  recruits  who  have  only  served  a  few  weeks.  The 
youngsters,  as  often  as  not,  shoot  better  and  march  better 
than  the  old  hands.  I  do  not  wish  to  say  a  word  against 
the  better  type  of  reservist,  who  is  also  represented  in 
my  own  battalion.  But  it  is  difficult  not  to  believe  that 
these  men  could  be  used  to  the  greatest  advantage  at  the 
front  or  in  battalions  for  home  service  consisting  wholly 
of  reservists,  from  whom  men  could  be  selected  from  time 
to  time  for  the  position  of  sergeants  in  the  battalions  of 
raw  recruits  in  the  New  Army. 


IN    KITCHENER'S    ARMY' 
BY  A  SEPTEMBER  RECRUIT  (F.  H.  K.) 

II 

The  grievances  of  the  newly  enrolled  soldier  have  been 
freely  and  frankly  discussed  in  the  Press  of  late.      I  have 
already  implied  that  I   do  not  consider  that  I  personally 
have  any  serious  cause  for  complaint  against  the  authori- 
ties.     But  there  have  been  not  a  few  cases  even  in  my 
own  battalion  where  men  have  suffered  minor  hardships 
and  inconveniences  which  can  hardly  be  regarded  as  irre- 
mediable.    Take,   for    instance,   the    question  of    washing 
accommodation.      During    the    last    three    weeks    of    our 
period   under   canvas   an   excellent   rough-and-ready   hot- 
water  bathroom  has  been  provided  in  the  shape  of  a  marquee 
equipped  with  a  number  of  zinc  baths  and  a  boiler  out- 
side.     But  for  the  first  two  months  of  our  life  in  camp 
it  was  impossible  to  obtain  a  hot-water  bath  except  by 
waiting  for  perhaps  half  the  evening  at  a  crowded  Soldiers' 
Home.      The    weekly    compulsory    visit    to    a    swimming 
bath,  where  the  water  was  often  very  definitely  opaque 
as   the  result   of   contact   with   several  hundred   previous 
bathers,   was   scarcely  an   adequate  substitute  for   a  hot 
bath,  and  the  opportunities  for  a  splash  in  a  cold  tub  in 

1  From  the  New  Statesman,  12  December,  1914. 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  218 

camp  were  not  frequent.  Although  one  is  grateful  for 
the  practical  arrangements  eventually  made,  it  seems 
unfortunate  that  the  new  recruit  should  have  been  left 
for  two  months  entirely  dependent  upon  private  and 
philanthropic  enterprise  for  an  elementary  essential  of 
cleanliness. 

I  have  very  definitely  formed  the  impression  that 
drunkenness,  or  even  excessive  drinking  in  any  sense,  in 
the  New  Army  is  confined  to  a  relatively  small  minority 
of  the  men  in  most  battalions.  And  it  is  only  a  very  tiny 
proportion  of  this  minority  of  men  who  get  drunk  owing 
to  any  craving  for  alcohol  or  pleasure  in  the  consumption 
of  large  quantities  of  it.  The  genuine  alcoholist  in  the 
New  Army  is  always  a  middle-aged  man,  and  generally 
an  old  soldier.  The  men  under  thirty,  whether  serving 
soldiers  or  recruits,  who  drink  to  excess  do  so  for  three 
reasons  :  first  and  foremost,  for  lack  of  any  intelligent 
interests  or  habits  of  recreation  outside  their  work  ;  secondly, 
owing  to  the  prevalent  notion  that  beer-swilling  is  a  fine, 
expansive,  John-Bullish,  soldierly  recreation  ;  and,  thirdly, 
owing  to  the  custom  of  standing  drinks,  which  at  times 
undoubtedly  adds  to  the  congeniality  of  life,  but  as  often 
as  not  is  an  irritating  nuisance  to  any  sensible  man,  whether 
he  is  the  recipient  or  the  donor  of  the  drink  in  question. 
Obviously  the  first  of  the  three  causes  of  excessive  drinking 
is,  in  the  Army  as  everywhere  else,  by  far  the  most  im- 
portant ;  and  for  that  reason,  among  others,  the  provision 
of  facilities  for  recreation  and  education  is  an  all-important 
feature  in  the  New  Army,  if  only  from  the  most  narrowly 
military  point  of  view.  I  frankly  do  not  think  that  the 
superior  authorities  have  done  all  that  they  could  have 
done  in  this  matter.  They  have  rightly  made  the  fullest 
use  of  voluntary  effort  ;  but  voluntary  effort,  even  includ- 
ing the  gigantic  enterprise  of  the  Y.M.C.A.,  has  fallen  far 
short  of  the  need. 

In  the  important  military  centre  of  Colchester  the  task 
has  perhaps  been  as  adequately  carried  out  as  anywhere  ; 
which  is  attributable  to  the  fact  that  the  Town  Council, 
under  the  energetic  leadership  of  the  Mayor,  Alderman 
Marriage,  has  taken  the  lead  in  making  provision  for  the 


214  KEELING  LETTERS 

troops,  and  has  incidentally  published  an  invaluable  guide 
to  all  the  places  of  recreation,  the  foreign  language  classes, 
the  bathrooms,  etc.,  available  for  soldiers  in  the  town. 
But  where  the  local  population  was  small  in  relation  to 
the  number  of  troops,  and  above  all  in  the  military  centres 
far  removed  from  any  town,  it  was  obviously  the  duty  of 
the  War  Office  to  see  that  every  soldier  had  at  least  an 
opportunity  in  the  evening  of  finding  a  seat  in  a  cheerful, 
brightly  lighted  tent  or  shed,  where  he  was  under  no  obliga- 
tion to  purchase  alcohol  and  could  obtain  a  decent  cup  of 
coffee  (which  the  canteen  contractors,  in  their  rush  for 
profits,  as  often  as  not  did  not  find  it  worth  while  to  pro- 
vide). However,  it  is  satisfactory  to  find  that  in  the  new 
camps  of  huts  there  are  to  be  company  recreation-rooms, 
and  a  site  is  even  marked  out  for  a  cinema  theatre.  One 
only  hopes  that  steps  will  also  be  taken  to  provide  ade- 
quately for  the  small  but  not  insignificant  number  of  men 
serving  in  the  ranks  who,  at  least  if  a  little  encouragement 
were  given,  would  be  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  attend 
some  sort  of  classes  in  the  evening,  whether  in  French  or 
German,  European  history,  or  some  of  the  special  branches 
of  military  knowledge,  such  as  semaphore  signalling,  map 
reading,  or  first  aid.  There  are  thousands  of  young  men 
now  serving  in  the  Army  who,  if  the  war  had  not  broken 
out,  would  have  been  attending  polytechnics,  Workers' 
Educational  Association  classes,  or  evening  schools  of  one 
kind  or  another,  after  a  day's  work  often  as  hard  as  that 
which  they  are  now  carrying  through  in  their  new  circum- 
stances. And  every  effort  ought  certainly  to  be  made 
to  ensure  that  (apart  from  the  invaluable  education  which 
life  in  the  Army  itself  provides)  the  mental  equipment  of 
the  tens  of  thousands  of  young  men  above  the  average 
in  intelligence  is  not  needlessly  dulled  through  their 
experience  of  soldiering. 

A  good  deal  of  the  criticism  of  the  arrangements  made 
for  the  New  Army  has  related  to  the  all-important  question 
of  food.  My  own  experience  is  that,  as  regards  the  quality 
of  the  provisions  supplied  by  the  authorities,  there  is  no 
reasonable  ground  of  complaint.  When  men  have  gone 
short,  or  have  had  uneatable  food,  the  trouble  has  always 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  215 

been  due  either  to  the  organization  for  serving  out  and 
cooking  food  within  the  regiment  or  to  groups  of  men 
scrambling  for  more  than  their  fair  share  of  food.  The 
ordinary  Army  routine  for  serving  out  rations  in  camp  is 
as  follows  :  The  company  orderly  corporal  draws  the  rations 
from  the  battalion  store  or  cookhouse  and  distributes 
them  to  the  orderly  men  from  each  tent  in  his  company. 
For  this  purpose  the  orderly  men  are  paraded  before  each 
meal.  The  company  and  battalion  orderly  officers  for 
the  day  are  responsible  for  seeing  that  the  routine  is  ob- 
served properly.  Obviously  any  irregularity  in  the  routine 
is  almost  certain  to  result  in  some  men  being  deprived 
of  their  fair  share  of  food.  A  second  difficulty  in  the 
feeding  of  the  troops  arises  from  the  cooking.  As  I  have 
mentioned  before,  this  work  has  mostly  been  relegated 
to  old  soldiers  in  order  to  enable  recruits  to  be  constantly 
on  parade.  The  result  has  not  been  satisfactory ;  and 
this  must  be  attributed  in  part  to  the  slackness  and  dirti- 
ness of  the  subordinate  cooks,  since  making  tea  and  the 
simple  stewing  and  roasting  of  meat  on  camp  fires  or  in 
field  ovens  require  no  technical  knowledge  beyond  what 
is  supplied  by  the  sergeant  cook. 

But  I  believe  that  probably  the  most  important  source 
of  complaints  about  food  in  the  New  Army  is  due  to  an 
apparently  trivial  point  which  can  scarcely  be  fully  appreci- 
ated by  any  one  who  has  not  had  some  experience  of  camp 
life  in  the  Army.  It  is  useless  to  supply  good  rations, 
to  give  technical  instruction  to  cooks,  and  to  make  elaborate 
arrangements  for  the  distribution  of  food  if  the  camp 
kettles  (so-called  "  dicksies  ")  in  which  tea,  cocoa,  soup, 
potatoes,  and  stews  are  all  cooked  are  not  kept  clean. 
In  point  of  fact,  in  many  camps  it  has  been  the  rule  rather 
than  the  exception  to  find  each  meal  unpleasantly  remi- 
niscent of  the  last — one's  tea,  for  instance,  tastes  strongly 
of  onions  or  is  swimming  with  the  mutton  fat  of  the  last 
dinner.  Now,  if  each  tent  (or  in  the  new  camps  each 
hut)  had  its  own  numbered  or  labelled  camp  kettles,  this 
objectionable  feature  of  Army  catering  would  automatically 
disappear,  because  the  men  in  each  tent  or  hut  would 
take  effective  steps  to  compel  their  orderlies  (taken  in 


216  KEELING  LETTERS 

rotation  from  among  themselves)  to  wash  up  properly. 
As  it  is,  any  tent  has  been  liable  to  have  its  tea  served 
in  a  kettle  which  has  not  been  properly  cleaned  for  days 
because  the  tent  orderlies  through  whose  hands  it  passed 
have  preferred  the  luxury  of  a  quiet  smoke  after  dinner 
to  the  rather  unpleasant  task  of  scrubbing  out  a  greasy 
kettle  with  probably  inadequate  materials — trusting  to 
luck  with  regard  to  getting  some  one  else's  clean  kettle 
for  tea.  I  am  prepared  to  uphold  the  thesis  that  the 
numbering  or  labelling  of  camp  kettles  with  a  view  to 
assigning  them  to  definite  groups  of  men  is  one  of  the  most 
important  reforms  which  could  be  carried  out  in  the  British 
Army  at  the  present  time  for  the  purpose  of  improving 
the  food  and  thereby  the  physical  and  fighting  efficiency 
of  hundreds  of  the  new  units. 

But  once  one  has  had  the  good  fortune  to  enter  the 
sergeants'  mess  the  trouble  of  the  daily  distribution  of  food 
no  longer  affects  one,  since  even  under  canvas  one  enjoys 
the  luxury  of  sit-down  meals  at  a  table.  The  sergeants' 
mess  of  the  British  Army  is  one  of  the  many  English  social 
institutions  which  have  developed  a  mass  of  vital  tradi- 
tions scarcely  known  outside  the  classes  which  come  im- 
mediately into  contact  with  them. 

I  shall  never  forget  how  one  sergeant  (who  was  a  com- 
plete stranger  to  me)  said  to  me  on  the  day  on  which  I 
had  just  received  my  stripes  :  '  You  know,  a  corporal 
might  often  be  glad  to  see  another  corporal  make  a  fool 
of  himself ;  but  sergeants  always  try  to  help  each  other 
out."  Whether  or  no  this  way  of  stating  the  case  involves 
a  libel  on  corporals,  it  certainly  represents  the  spirit  which 
I  have  almost  invariably  found  amongst  the  sergeants. 
Another  point  in  the  sergeants'  mess  which  is  striking 
to  any  one  who  has  been  familiar  with  Public  School  and 
University  life  is  the  tolerance  of  eccentricity  or  individu- 
ality in  matters  which  do  not  directly  affect  a  man's 
duties  as  a  soldier.  Perhaps  here,  again,  the  exceptional 
atmosphere  of  a  sergeants'  mess  in  a  new  battalion  in  war- 
time does  not  provide  a  fair  criterion  ;  but  I  have  certainly 
gained  the  impression  that  the  standards  of  good  form  in  the 
sergeants'  mess  throughout  the  Army  do  not  involve  the 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  217 

narrow  spirit  of  hostility  to  most  forms  of  intelligent  initia- 
tive in  conduct  which  characterizes  a  common  type  of 
English  Public  School.  I  have  certainly  never  felt  more 
at  home  among  any  body  of  men  than  I  have  in  my  regi- 
mental sergeants'  mess,  though  I  am  about  as  unsergeant- 
like  a  type  of  person  as  could  be  found.  If  it  is  my  good 
fortune  to  come  back  safe  and  sound  from  over  the  water 
after  the  war,  it  is  the  sergeants'  mess  which  will  form  the 
centre  of  the  memories  of  my  military  past. 

ON    THE    EVE' 

BY  A  SERGEANT  OF  THE  FIRST  NEW  ARMY  (F.  H.  K.) 


When  "  No  parade  to-day  "  sounded  the  other  day  at 
the  conclusion  of  the  inter-divisional  manoeuvres  my  work 
as  scout  sergeant  had  taken  me  some  distance  from  my 
own  detachment.  The  enemy,  numbering  two  divisions 
in  opposition  to  our  one,  had  succeeded  in  forcing  their 
way  between  two  of  our  brigades,  which  had  advanced 
along  parallel  roads,  and  had  completely  outflanked  my 
own,  the  central  brigade.  I  hastened  to  begin  my  march 
home,  expecting  to  fall  in  with  one  or  the  other  of  the 
battalions  in  my  brigade  later  on.  As  I  hurried  along  I 
passed  a  considerable  number  of  troops,  most  of  whom 
were  basking  in  the  delicious  afternoon  sunshine  on  the 
roadside  or  in  the  fields,  awaiting  the  order  to  form  up. 
They  belonged  to  all  parts  of  the  country — men  of  the 
North  and  the  Midlands,  East  Anglians,  and  Cockneys— 
and  were  probably  a  fair  sample  of  the  First  New  Army. 
The  sight  of  them  gave  one  a  thrill  of  pride.  They  looked 
as  tough,  well-set-up,  and  hearty  a  body  as  any  man  could 
wish  to  fight  with.  There  is  no  doubt  whatever  that  in 
physique  and  in  enthusiasm  the  first  "  Kitchener  "  Army 
could  hardly  be  surpassed.  Everywhere  one  sees  the 
same  thing  and  hears  the  same  story — continual  grumbling 
at  the  delay  in  getting  into  the  firing-line. 

1  From  the  New  Statesman,  29  May,  1915. 


218  KEELING  LETTERS 

It  goes  without  saying  that  this  discontent  is  merely 
a  temporary  phase,  important  only  as  a  symptom  of  the 
spirit  of  the  New  Armies.  The  public,  taking  that  spirit 
for  granted,  is  perhaps  more  concerned  to  know,  not 
what  Kitchener's  Army  feels  like  and  thinks  of  itself,  but 
what  is  its  real  military  quality  as  a  disciplined  force.  What 
can  the  120,000  men  of  the  First  New  Army  do  that  they 
could  not  do  nine  months  ago  ?  To  begin  with,  they 
are  capable  of  infinitely  greater  physical  endurance.  There 
is  little  doubt  that  in  this  respect  they  would  prove  superior 
even  to  the  original  Expeditionary  Force  which  fought 
at  Mons — for  two  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  the  New 
Army  is  more  sober  than  the  old.  And  in  the  second, 
the  original  Expeditionary  Force  included  large  numbers 
of  Reservists  who  were  called  straight  up  from  civilian 
life.  These  were  the  men  whose  feet  went  to  pieces  in 
the  retreat  from  Mons — it  is  extraordinary  that  most  of 
them  lasted  as  well  as  they  did.  We  of  the  First  New 
Army,  on  the  other  hand,  have  had  nine  months  of  hard 
continuous  training,  and  we  shall  never  be  fitter  than  we 
are.  We  have  learned  to  march,  to  bivouac,  to  cook 
our  own  dinners  in  mess-tins  over  a  fire  of  a  few  sticks, 
and,  last  but  not  least,  to  wait  for  hours  in  every  variety 
of  weather  by  day  or  night.  We  have  had  experience 
of  life  under  canvas,  in  huts,  and  in  billets.  Our  musketry 
is  good,  but  not  on  the  average  as  good  as  that  of  the 
old  Regular  Army,  though  we  have  plenty  of  crack  shots. 
Our  specialists,  such  as  signallers  and  machine-gunners, 
are  thoroughly  trained  and  keen.  Our  drill  on  the  barrack 
square  is  not  generally  up  to  the  standard  of  the  Old  Army, 
but  when  we  turn  out  for  an  inspection  and  really  put 
our  minds  to  the  job,  I  think  we  can  do  a  march-past  or 
a  rifle  movement  as  well  as  a  line  battalion.  A  plethora 
of  mimic  warfare  has  made  us  perhaps  rather  more  careless 
in  such  matters  as  taking  cover  than  we  were  six  months 
ago  ;  but  a  breath  of  reality  will  alter  that. 

Incidentally,  the  important  part  which  athletics  have 
played  in  the  training  of  the  New  Army  is  worth  noting. 
Cross-country  running,  football,  and  boxing  have  en- 
couraged physical  development,  bred  esprit  dc  corps,  and 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  219 

relieved  the  monotony  of  life.  Some  weeks  ago  I  had  the 
good  fortune  to  win  a  medal  in  a  cross-country  run  of 
seven  miles  in  which  there  were  five  hundred  competitors 
out  of  a  single  division.  The  King's  presence  at  the  race 
was  briefly  noticed  in  the  Press ;  and  German  papers, 
misunderstanding  the  reference,  jeered  at  the  British 
Monarch  for  attending  a  horse-race  meeting  in  time  of 
war.  If  a  few  Teutonic  journalists  could  have  witnessed 
the  scene,  there  might  perhaps  be  less  nonsense  talked 
in  Germany  about  the  quality  and  spirit  of  the  New  English 
Army.  Anyway,  I  wish  our  division  could  take  on  five 
hundred  German  recruits  in  a  seven-mile  team  race. 

As  regards  discipline,  it  is  hard  to  speak.  The  discipline 
of  the  New  Armies  is  different  from  that  of  the  old  Regular 
Army  because  the  conditions  are  different.  One  of  the 
natural  bases  of  discipline,  the  subordination  of  rank  to 
rank  more  or  less  according  to  seniority  of  service,  is  neces- 
sarily absent  in  battalions  composed  almost  entirely  of 
men  who  enlisted  en  masse  as  raw  recruits.  The  great 
majority  of  the  men  who  are  now  non-commissioned  officers 
knew  no  more  than  the  other  recruits  when  they  joined. 
Their  authority  (apart  from  legal  powers  of  coercion,  which 
in  the  hands  of  a  fool  will  not  suffice  in  any  army  in  the 
world  to  secure  the  instinctive  obedience  which  is  discipline) 
therefore  depends  almost  solely  upon  their  inherent  capacity 
and  the  goodwill  of  their  subordinates.  Discipline,  of 
course,  varies  a  good  deal  from  one  battalion  to  another 
in  Kitchener's  Army — as  it  does,  by  the  way,  in  the 
Regular  Army,  where  the  differences  between  English 
and  Irish  regiments  or  between  Guards  and  some  of  the 
line  regiments  are  particularly  striking.  The  differences 
in  the  New  Army  are  largely  due  to  the  personal  idiosyn- 
crasies of  officers  commanding  companies  and  battalions. 
But  they  are  also  attributable  to  the  varying  extent  to 
which  old  Army  N.C.O.'s  are  scattered  through  the  new 
units.  From  accounts  which  I  have  heard  of  the  more 
recently  formed  battalions  of  Kitchener's  Army,  I  should 
say  that  in  some  respects  there  is  at  the  present  moment 
less  difference  from  the  point  of  view  of  discipline  and 
military  spirit  between  the  old  Regular  Army  and  the 


220  KEELING  LETTERS 

First  New  Army  than  there  is  between  the  First  New 
Army  and  these  new  battalions  of  the  later  New  Armies. 
Undoubtedly,  there  has  been  an  enormous  improvement 
during  the  past  few  months,  and  the  chief  difference  that 
still  remains  in  this  respect  between  a  First  Army  battalion 
and  a  Regular  battalion  is  perhaps  that  the  personal  factor 
in  the  maintenance  of  discipline  counts  for  more  in  the 
former  than  in  the  latter.  Much  therefore  depends  upon 
the  N.C.O.'s  of  the  New  Armies,  and  as  one  of  them  I  may 
be  regarded  as  a  prejudiced  witness,  but  I  do  not  think 
they  will  fail.  On  the  contrary,  I  cannot  help  feeling 
that  the  New  Army  sergeants  and  corporals,  taken  as  a 
whole,  will  prove  an  extraordinarily  valuable  military 
asset.  They  are  naturally  the  pick  of  the  autumn  recruits. 
They  have  been  selected  purely  by  merit,  and  the  field 
of  selection  was  exceptional  in  quality  and  quantity  alike. 
The  result,  therefore,  ought  to  be  good,  and  I  believe  it  is. 
Nor  have  the  non-commissioned  ranks  been  depleted  to 
any  marked  extent  to  supply  officers  to  more  recently 
formed  units.  Probably  almost  any  New  Army  N.C.O. 
would  be  prepared  to  accept  a  commission  if  he  were  defi- 
nitely asked  to  do  so  on  patriotic  grounds  ;  but  unless 
he  is  asked  he  generally  prefers  to  stay  where  he  is.  As 
regards  my  own  battalion  (which  at  the  present  moment 
contains  four  University  men  amongst  the  N.C.O.'s),  nearly 
all  the  score  or  so  of  men  who  have  left  the  ranks  to  take 
commissions  have  been  privates  or  at  most  lance-corporals. 
And  so,  I  understand,  it  has  been  elsewhere.  The  New 
Army  sergeants  and  full  corporals  have  practically  all 
been  content  with  their  position. 

Personally,  I  feel  that  a  sergeant  has  as  wide  and  useful 
a  scope  for  work  as  a  subaltern,  and  I  find  the  social  aspects 
of  regimental  life  in  the  New  Army  more  congenial  than 
ever.  Take  a  battalion  like  my  own,  which  is  made  up 
of  every  class,  from  unskilled  labourers  to  professional 
men.  Now  that  under  strict  active  service  conditions 
our  sergeants'  mess  is  for  the  moment  abolished,  I  sit 
down  to  meals  with  a  brass-caster,  a  railway  porter,  a 
sugar-boiler,  a  bricklayer,  an  engine-cleaner,  an  "  oyster- 
man  "  (i.e.,  a  man  who  serves  behind  an  oyster  bar  in 


SOLDIERING  IN  ENGLAND  221 

Shaftesbury  Avenue),  a  tailor,  and  several  clerks  and  ware- 
housemen of  various  types  ;    and  there  is  nothing  forced 
or  difficult  in  the  association.      We  are  all  "  here  because 
we're  here,"  as  our  marching  song  says.    It  has  been  incon- 
venient at  times  in  the  past  to  sleep  in  the  same  tent  with 
a  miscellaneous  collection  of  men,   a  minority  of  whom 
were   prepared   to   appropriate,  and   on  occasion  did   ap- 
propriate, one's  boots  in  order  to  obtain  the  price  of  a  few 
drinks.     But  on  the  whole,  during  the  past  nine  months 
I  have  certainly  found  life  as  pleasant  as  at  any  other 
period  of  my  existence  and  as  much,  or  more,  worth  living. 
For  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  bugle  calls  gradually  eat 
into  one's  soul.      The  habits  of  a  military  communal  life 
become   a  second   nature.      After   all,   the  regiment   is   a 
home  and  a  mother  to  us.      It  feeds  us  and  clothes  us 
and   provides   us   with   healthy   work,    comradeship,    and 
opportunities  for  enjoyable  leisure.      Indeed,  I  sometimes 
think    that    the   ritual   of   everyday   regimental   life — the 
parading  of  orderly  men  for  rations  or  of  orderly  sergeants 
on   "  staff   parade,"   the  morning  bugle   calls  of  reveille, 
retreat,  and  last  post,  guard-mounting,  ceremonial  duties, 
and  so  on — comes  nearer  than  anything  else  in  modern 
society  to  that  theology-less  religion  of  social  ritual  about 
which  Miss  Jane  Harrison  writes  so  convincingly  in  her 
"Alpha  and  Omega."     It  takes  the  episodes  of  our  daily 
collective  life  and  gives  them  a  dignity — in  fact,  almost 
a  dramatic  form.      And  it   would  be  difficult   to   find  a 
ritual  more  calculated  to  call  forth  in  one  a  thrill  of  col- 
lective  emotion    than    a   big   ceremonial    parade — as,    for 
instance,  when  our  whole  brigade  marched  past  the  Minister 
for  War  the  other  day  in  columns  of  platoons.      It  may 
seem  ridiculous,  but  I  certainly  never  in  my  life  felt  more 
wrapped  up  in  the  flood  of  collective  humanity  than  on  that 
occasion.     Perhaps  I  am  more  of  an  enthusiast  than  most, 
or,   rather,   more  conscious  of  what  is  happening  to   me 
and  to  those  around  me  ;  but  it  is  unquestionably  a  fact 
that   the   battalions   and  even   the   brigades   of   the   First 
New  Army  are  no  longer  mere  congeries  of  men.      They 
have  their  collective  souls.     They  are  more  living,  corporate 
entities  than  any  bodies  corporate  with  hundreds  of  years 
of  history  behind  them. 


222  KEELING  LETTERS 

Two  impressions  about  myself  are  uppermost  in  my 
mind  on  the  eve  of  leaving  England  with  a  prospect  of 
stiff  fighting  in  a  very  few  weeks,  perhaps  in  a  few  days. 
In  the  first  place,  my  mind  is  more  alert  and  keen  than 
ever  in  my  life  before.  I  am  nothing  of  a  philosopher 
in  the  technical  sense  of  the  term,  but  I  find  myself  con- 
tinually reflecting  on  the  mysteries  of  life  and  time  and 
the  reality  behind  things  as  they  seem.  I  have  even  made 
some  headway  with  Bergson's  L'Evolution  Creatrice,  which 
I  am  carrying  to  France  on  my  back.  (I  was  prejudiced 
against  him  before  by  the  way  he  has  been  seized  on  by 
certain  religious  sects,  political  reactionaries,  emotional 
syndicalists,  et  hoc  genus  omne.  But  Wilkes  was  no 
Wilkite  !)  If  only  the  war  lasts  long  enough  and  I  don't 
get  knocked  out,  I  shall  have  much  clearer  notions  on  these 
subjects  than  I  ever  should  have  had  otherwise.  In  the 
second  place,  all  my  enthusiasm  about  fighting  has  come 
to  centre  round  my  connection  with  my  own  regiment 
and  brigade.  I  suppose  I  could  take  root  somewhere 
else  in  the  Army  if  I  had  to,  but  to  part  from  my  battalion 
would  be  to  break  one  of  the  strongest  ties  I  have  ever 
known.  This  feeling  has  taken  many  months  to  grow 
up.  At  first  one  knew  and  felt  little  beyond  the  restricted 
circle  of  one's  platoon.  Gradually  first  one's  company, 
then  one's  battalion,  and  finally  one's  brigade  and  division 
become  living  realities.  Nine  months  ago  I  enlisted 
from  a  number  of  motives — general  patriotism,  indigna- 
tion at  the  invasion  of  Belgium,  enthusiasm  for  the  prin- 
ciple of  nationality,  and  sheer  egotistical  adventurousness. 
But  now  all  my  feelings  about  my  own  country  and  the 
rights  and  wrongs  of  this  war  seem  to  have  been,  as  far 
as  my  everyday  emotional  life  is  concerned,  absorbed  in 
the  sentiment  of  attachment  to  my  own  battalion  and 
brigade.  I  don't  personally  bother  about  hating  Germans  ; 
and  patriotic  and  humanitarian  sentiment  only  stirs  me 
consciously  at  distant  intervals.  The  thoughts  that 
habitually  rouse  me  to  a  desire  of  coming  through  this 
job  tolerably  creditably  are  the  honour  of  my  own  battalion 
and  its  opinion  of  me.  Those  are  now  my  sustaining 
motives  in  this  game  of  war. 


CHAPTER    IX 
APRIL   TO    DECEMBER,    1915 

To  R.  C.  K.  Ensor 

6TH  D.C.L.I.. 

MAIDA  BARRACKS,  ALDERSHOT. 
April,  1915. 

WE  are  expecting  to  move  very  shortly  now.  We 
have  been  on  a  trek,  including  a  night's  bivouacking,  and 
have  had  rather  a  rough  time  altogether  for  the  last 
fortnight. 

This  last  business  in  Flanders  seems  to  have  been  a 
nasty  knock.  These  battles  seem  to  get  more  and  more 
unpleasant  from  an  infantryman's  point  of  view.  If 
asphyxiating  gases  are  going  to  be  part  of  the  ordinary 
game  in  future,  the  prospect  is  decidedly  vile.  It  certainly 
would  be  more  satisfactory  to  go  anywhere  rather  than 
to  Flanders.  At  the  same  time,  I  suppose  the  Germans 
will  continue  to  break  through  there,  and  somebody  must 
do  the  dirty  work  of  plugging  the  hole.  I  wonder  why 
there  are  still  French  on  our  left.  You  would  think 
that  the  Belgians  and  ourselves  ought  to  be  able  to  cover 
all  the  ground  from  the  coast  down  to  our  right  now. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  your  kind  offer  to  get  me  an}'- 
thing.  I  think  I  have  all  I  want  now — some  one  has 
just  sent  me  a  torch.  I  shall  get  some  leather  gloves — 
I  think  they  might  be  useful.  But  I  am  carrying  more 
than  any  one  else  in  the  battalion  already — every  ounce 
seems  to  tell  when  you  get  up  to  about  60  or  70  Ib. 

I  shall  look  forward  to  a  pleasant  talk  in  about  eighteen 
months'  time. 

I  hope  the  new  infant  goes  on  well.  It  looks  splendid. 
I  am  damned  glad  I  got  a  couple  of  kids  before  going  off 
to  the  wars. 


224  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  E.  S.  P.  Haynes. 

6-TH  D.C.L.I., 

MAIDA  BARRACKS,  ALDERSHOT. 
May,  1915. 

.  .  .  Rupert  Brooke's  death  seems  a  peculiarly  tragic 
episode.  I  have  felt  it  the  more  as  we  started  soldiering 
together  when  the  war  broke  out.  It  has  intensified 
my  conviction  that  I  shall  not  come  back — or  rather  my 
expectation — for  the  feeling  has  no  rational  basis  and  I 
can  imagine  myself  analysing  it  with  interest  after  the 
war.  Still,  it  is  there.  I  wonder  if  most  men  who  think 
and  have  not  been  accustomed  to  face  Death  before  have 
it  when  they  go  on  active  service. 

Many  thanks  for  writing  to  stir  me  up  about  the  will. 
I  have  now  completed  it,  and  enclose  it  herewith  along 
with  all  the  relevant  papers.  . 

We  have  had  an  embarkation  leave,  and  I  expect  we 
shall  be  off  in  a  few  days  now.  I  think  this  battalion 
will  fully  maintain  the  honour  of  our  regiment — you  will 
have  seen  French's  reference  to  the  Cornwalls.  I  hope 
to  have  many  more  jovial  meals  with  you  in  the  future  ; 
and  if  there  is  a  Valhalla  by  any  chance  and  I  find  my 
way  there  before  you,  I  will  keep  a  place  for  you  at  the 
festive  board  and  sample  the  brews  for  you  in  advance.  .  .  . 

To  Mrs.  Hubback  (Miss  Eva  Spielmann). 

ALDERSHOT      15  May,  1915. 

Yes,  it  is  only  a  matter  of  a  wire  to  our  Divisional  Head- 
quarters, hourly  expected  now. 

I  hope  I  shall  come  back,  it  would  be  very  interesting, 
but  I  don't  hope  for  any  more  life.  I  shall  be  very  grateful 
to  Fate  if  I  get  it.  Have  just  been  reading  Jane  Harri- 
son's "Essays"  and  have  begun  Bergson  in  French  as  a 
result.  I  was  prejudiced  against  him  owing  to  the  way  he  is 
seized  on  by  Christians,  anti-rationalists,  and  reactionaries 
of  all  kinds,  including  the  newest  brands  of  revolutionaries, 
but  I  wanted  badly  to  get  my  mind  on  to  some  philo- 
sophical thinking.  I  never  felt  more  convinced  in  all  my 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,  1915  225 

life  that  the  chances  are  a  thousand  to  one  that  things 
as  we  see  them  for  purposes  of  daily  life  are  not  things  as 
they  really  are.  That  is  trite  philosophy,  but  when  one 
comes  to  think  it  habitually  it  becomes  important.  And  so 
I  like  to  feel  vaguely  out  behind  time  and  the  shadows 
of  things  as  they  seem. 

Soldiering  in  springtime  has  been  very  pleasant.  I 
feel  very  tough  and  fit. 

Kitchener  inspected  the  43rd  Brigade  a  few  days  ago. 
We  marched  past  in  column  of  platoons.  I  never  felt 
so  mad  with  emotion  in  all  my  life.  The  ritual  of  the 
Army  beats  that  of  the  Christian  Church  any  day.  In 
fact,  the  ritual  of  soldiering  comes  nearer  a  decent  civic 
religion  than  anything  else  I  know.  It  is  a  queer  thing 
that  I  should  have  found  the  social  and  emotional  en- 
vironment that  suits  me  best  in  the  Army.  I  wonder 
if  I  could  ever  find  a  family  an  adequate  substitute  for 
a  regiment.  If  I  do  come  back  from  the  war  I  shall  want 
to  keep  up  a  bit  of  soldiering  as  long  as  I  can.  I  feel 
as  if  I  couldn't  live  for  evermore  without  bugle  calls. 
They  have  eaten  into  my  soul. 

Of  course  I  have  experienced  all  the  advantages  of 
war  for  nine  months.  Now  I  am  to  come  up  against  the 
horrors — pretty  badly  perhaps.  I  get  very  depressed  at 
this  German-baiting  and  spirit  of  hatred.  I  can't  help 
feeling  the  Germans  had  something  of  a  case  about  the 
Lusitania,  for  instance,  horrible  as  it  may  seem  and 
although  I  think  they  were  very  foolish  to  sink  her. 

Well,  good-bye.  I  shall  always  be  glad  of  a  line  from 
you.  Give  me  any  news  of  Joan  and  Bernard  and  Diana. 
I  wonder  if  Joan  will  remember  me. 

To  Mrs.  Green. 

B.E.F.     27  May,  1915. 

My  first  week  of  warfare  has  been  a  delightful  picnic — 
two  days  in  a  splendid  camp  over  the  sea,  three  days  in 
an  idyllic  French  Flemish  village,  then  two  days  of  easy 
marching  towards  the  firing-line.  Our  village  where  we 
stopped  three  days  was  one  of  the  most  charming  typically 
Flemish  places  you  can  imagine.  The  people  all  over 

1C 


226  KEELING  LETTERS 

here  mostly  speak  Flemish  naturally.  The  kids  learn 
French  first  in  the  schools.  I  found  a  Belgian  Fleming 
working  in  the  village  who  could  hardly  speak  French. 
I  got  on  with  him  by  speaking  my  few  words  of  Dutch 
mixed  in  with  German  where  I  didn't  know  the  Dutch. 
We  have  just  got  into  the  area  where  there  are  odd  de- 
tachments of  armies  in  the  firing-line  and  where  also  there 
was  fighting  with  the  Germans  last  year.  Weather  de- 
lightful all  the  time.  Since  Sunday  night  we  have  been 
hearing  the  big  guns  in  the  distance. 

Well,  we  are  living  like  fighting-cocks  and  enjoying  a 
continental  tour  at  the  Government's  expense.  That  is 
all  that  war  means  so  far,  except  for  the  boom  of  the 
guns,  which  has  just  come  to  my  ear  again  as  I  lie  in  this 
pleasant  meadow  girt  with  pollarded  elms.  We  sleep  in 
barns  on  straw,  absolutely  the  best  bed  in  the  world. 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     16  June,  1915. 

Have  just  come  out  of  the  trenches  for  two  days  after 
two  days  in.  It  was  a  pretty  warm  corner.  We  went 
for  instruction  with  our  1st  Battalion.  I  happened  to 
be  close  by  when  two  of  the  6th  Battalion  fellows  were 
shot  through  the  head.  I  am  glad  to  get  away  for  a  bit 
to  another  very  pleasant  camp  by  a  large  village  with  a 
fresh  flowing  brook  where  you  can  get  water  for  washing. 
Our  ist  Battalion  have  been  in  these  trenches  for  fifty- 
two  days  :  it  is  as  hot  a  place  as  you  can  find  along  the  line, 
but  it  is  good  to  get  instruction  from  such  excellent  fellows. 
I  am  specializing  on  bomb-throwing  now  ;  in  fact,  my 
scouts  are  being  turned  into  a  bomb-throwing  squad. 
One  did  not  expect  to  become  a  British  Grenadier  when 
one  went  in  for  soldiering.  You  can  do  a  lot  with  bombs 
in  this  hand-to-hand  fighting,  but  it  seems  a  rum  way  of 
settling  international  affairs.  I  was  sitting  for  some  time 
at  the  end  of  a  sap  within  fifteen  yards  of  the  Germans. 
The  trenches  run  very  close  together  where  our  ist  Bat- 
talion are — even  when  you  are  out  of  the  trenches  in  the 
bivvies  (dugouts)  just  behind,  the  bullets  come  through 
the  trees  over  your  head  all  the  time,  making  a  beastly 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,   1915  327 

row  as  they  go  through  the  tree  trunks.  We  were  awak- 
ened on  Sunday  morning  by  the  Germans  having  a  bit 
of  a  hate  in  the  form  of  shelling  our  wood.  You  could 
hear  the  whizz  for  a  second  or  so  before  the  explosion 
came,  and  of  course  every  one  kept  under  cover  in  the 
bivvies.  This  is  a  delightful  village  where  we  now  are. 
You  can't  imagine  how  one's  spirits  went  up  as  we  marched 
here  in  the  early  hours  between  one  and  six  a.m.,  once 
we  were  out  of  the  range  of  stray  bullets.  It  was  a  relief 
to  feel  oneself  out  of  the  regular  death  area.  I  am 
becoming  quite  attached  to  this  part  of  Flanders,  which 
is  slightly  undulating,  not  absolutely  flat  like  the  part 
more  to  the  north  and  west.  The  meadows  and  fields 
around  the  camp  slope  gradually  down  to  the  brook,  and 
the  A.S.C.  Camp  which  adjoins  ours  is  quite  picturesque, 
with  the  horses  and  wagons  and  little  bivouacs  made  of 
waterproof  sheets,  surrounded  by  rows  of  tall  trees  with 
bare  trunks  after  the  regular  French  and  Belgian  style. 
The  brier  roses  are  blossoming  in  the  hedges  just  as,  I 
suppose,  they  are  in  England.  It  was  rather  pathetic 
to  find  a  cottage  garden  with  gooseberry  and  currant 
bushes  and  blossoming  roses  only  a  couple  of  hundred 
yards  behind  the  point  where  our  rifles  were  cracking. 
The  cottage  itself  was  smashed  to  pieces.  I  picked  a  red 
rose  and  meant  to  enclose  it,  but  I  think  it  has  got  broken 
in  my  pack.  The  Belgians  here  are  delighted  when  they 
find  one  tries  to  sprecken  Vlaams  and  compliment  one 
most  profusely  on  one's  efforts. 

To  R.  C.  K.  Ensor. 

6TH  D.C.L.I.,  B.E.F. 

Monday,  28  June,   1915. 

Many  thanks  for  your  p.c.  Am  going  on  fit  and  strong. 
My  brigade  is  now  doing  duty  in  the  trenches  for  the  first 
time,  but  my  battalion  happens  to  be  in  reserve,  so  we 
are  living  in  dugouts  and  in  the  vaults  of  a  brewery  in 
the  ruins  of  a  famous  town.  The  scene  is  extraordinary. 
I  go  for  peace  to  read  and  write  in  the  ruins  of  a  church 
opposite.  There  are  generally  shells  exploding  a  few 
score  yards  off  and  our  batteries  replying  very  near  by. 


228  KEELING  LETTERS 

We  have  done  two  instructional  spells  in  the  trenches; 
as  luck  would  have  it,  a  lot  of  us  went  to  our  own  ist 
Battalion,  who  are  in  a  very  hot  place  and  lose  about  five 
or  six  men  daily  on  the  average.  Saps  go  down  to  within 
fifteen  yards  of  the  Germans.  I  had  two  of  our  men 
shot  through  the  head  close  by  me  on  my  second  day  up. 
We  had  a  good  few  casualties  during  these  two  spells 
and  when  digging  trenches  close  behind  the  front  line, 
of  which  we  have  done  a  good  deal.  Our  job  in  reserve 
now  is  mostly  carrying  rations,  water,  etc.,  for  the  battalion 
linked  with  us  in  the  brigade,  which  is  doing  front-line 
duty  in  a  whole  new  trench  newly  made  after  an  advance 
—the  one  they  took  from  the  Germans  was  too  full  of 
dead  bodies  to  use. 

I  am  now  battalion  bomb  sergeant — every  one  is  going 
in  increasingly  for  the  use  of  grenades  in  this  close  trench 
warfare. 

Writing  this  in  the  vault  by  candle-light  at  mid-day. 


There  is  not  a  single  house  here  anything  like  complete. 
I  hope  they  will  put  a  ring  fence  round  the  place  and  keep 
it  as  a  memorial  of  what  war  is. 

This  is  not  a  life  for  any  one  with  anything  like  nerves 
— three  men  have  already  broken  down  in  our  battalion — 
but  I  don't  see  myself  coming  to  an.y  harm  by  it  unless 
by  the  inevitable  bullet  or  shell  or  bomb.  (Trench  mortars 
are  about  the  most  bloody  things  in  the  trenches.) 

As  far  as  I  can  judge  we  shall  very  likely  escape  epi- 
demics and  disease  out  here.  The  sanitary  discipline 
and  arrangements,  though  rough,  are  pretty  good — though 
I  think  there  is  still  room  for  improvement  in  the  training 
and  teaching  of  the  New  Armies  in  this  respect. 

Should  be  awfully  glad  to  hear  your  views  of  the  pros- 
pects and  progress  of  the  war  /as  a  whole  from  time  to 
time,  if  you  can  spare  time  to  write. 

I  don't  see  a  great  deal  of  use  in  this  "  National  Register." 
Some  good,  no  doubt,  will  be  got  from  it,  but  it  is  mostly 
the  outcome  of  very  crude  thinking  as  far  as  I  can  see. 
I  hope  more  keenly  than  ever  we  beat  the  Germans  without 


229 

conscription.  It  would  be  a  great  moral  achievement. 
That  is,  of  course,  not  an  overwhelming  argument  against 
conscription,  but  it  has  weight.  .  .  . 

To  Mrs.  Green. 

B.E.F. 

IN  A  DUGOUT  JUST  BEHIND  THE  FIRING-LINE. 
29  July,  1915. 

I  have  been  in  the  battle — I  think  it  is  pretty  well  a 
battle,  which  you  will  read  about  in  the  papers — and  I 
am  wounded,  but  not  badly.  We  stood  to  in  our  rest- 
camp  at  4.30  this  morning.  The  big  guns  had  been 
going  some  time.  We  marched  about  three  or  four  miles 
and  then  halted.  The  news  came  of  the  German  attack 
with  liquid  fire.  Then  another  brigade  of  our  Division 
sent  to  ask  our  regiment  for  bombers  to  detonate — that  is, 
to  prepare  for  exploding — three  or  four  hundred  bombs.  I 
took  three  of  my  four  sections  up  to  their  Brigade  Head- 
quarters and  did  the  job.  At  first  they  proposed  to  send 
us  as  a  separate  detachment  to  the  firing-line  to  replace 
the  bombers  of  a  regiment  which  had  suffered  badly,  but 
the  Major  commanding  now,  as  our  Colonel  was  wounded 
in  the  trenches  last  week,  wanted  to  keep  us,  so  we  rejoined 
our  battalion  about  11.45,  finding  our  way  to  a  given  point 
on  the  map.  Then  we  went  up  to  supports  and  were 
shelled  heavily  all  the  way  up.  One  company  officer 
was  killed  and  several  men  wounded.  At  2  p.m.  our 
batteries  started  giving  them  hell.  They  replied.  We 
were  near  the  firing-line  then  and  things  were  warm,  but 
the  great  thing  to  keep  you  cool  and  happy  is  to  have 
something  to  do.  I  could  never  have  lived  through  the 
nine  days  in  the  trenches  last  time  if  I  had  not  been  worked 
to  death  day  and  night.  We  waited  in  a  support  trench 
half  an  hour.  My  bombers  had  got  mixed  up  with  the 
company's,  but  there  were  enough  to  make  a  unit.  I 
was  ordered  to  lead  the  second  party  which  went  up  to 
support  the  firing-line.  I  led  my  men  across  a  field  which 
had  been  heavily  shelled  just  before,  but  fortunately 
we  got  none.  We  reported  to  the  Sth  Rifle  Brigade  C.O. 
in  the  wood  ;  he  sent  us  on  to  the  right ;  shells  were 


230  KEELING  LETTERS 

falling  everywhere.  I  passed  several  men  dead  or  horribly 
wounded ;  less  wounded  men  were  wending  their  way  back 
to  the  dressing  station.  I  felt  cheer ml  nevertheless, 
really  a  sort  of  tinge  of  joy  of  battle  in  spite  of  the  hell- 
ishness  of  it  all,  though  you  can't  get  a  real  joy  of  battle 
in  these  artillery  days.  Then  suddenly  I  heard  a  speci- 
ally loud  crash  and  fell,  seeing  "  red,"  and  thinking,  "  Am 
I  going  to  die  ?  This  is  not  so  bad  as  I  thought  it 
would  be  ;  let  me  get  the  thing  tied  up  before  I  suffer 
from  loss  of  blood,"  which  I  could  feel  and  see  a  good  deal 
of.  As  I  rushed  to  an  officer  and  asked  him  to  do  me 
up,  I  thought,  "  What  a  coward  I  am,  not  looking  to  my 
corporal !  "  who  was  wounded  next  to  me.  However,  there 
was  no  arterial  bleeding — I  learnt  about  this  at  our  M.O.'s 
lectures  on  First  Aid.  I  had  got  about  four  cuts  on  the 
back  of  the  head  and  neck,  and  slight  cuts  on  ear  and  hand, 
and  various  bruises  on  legs  and  arms.  The  officer  did 
me  up,  and  I  reminded  him  of  the  iodine,  which  he  forgot 
at  first.  Then  I  came  back  to  the  dressing  station,  a 
little  ashamed  of  not  going  back  to  the  firing-line.  It 
was  awfully  difficult  to  say  whether  one  was  bad  enough 
not  to  go  back  ;  however,  they  all  said  I  mustn't  go  back, 
so  I  came  here.  It  isn't  a  "  Blighty,"  I  am  pretty  sure, 
so  I  shan't  see  you  yet,  and  shall  be  back  to  have  another 
smack  at  them  with  Ticklers'  artillery  soon.  I  am  not 
sure  whether  it  was  a  shell  itself  or  whether  a  shell  fragment 
hit  one  of  the  bundles  of  bombs  we  were  carrying  up  and 
exploded  them.  The  only  trouble  now  is  if  one  will  get 
down  all  right.  The  shelling  has  died  away  a  bit  now, 
though  they  are  still  exploding  uncomfortably  near  this 
dugout.  There  are  contrary  rumours  as  to  whether  we 
have  taken  the  lost  trenches  or  not — the  ones  we  took 
from  the  Germans  about  the  middle  of  June  and  lost  a 
week  ago — anyhow,  if  I  post  this  letter  you  will  know  I 
am  all  right — I  have  suffered  no  pain  really. 

Later,  10.30  p.m.     Dressing  station. 

Have  been  dressed  properly  and  expect  to  go  off  to  the 
casualty  clearing  station  in  a  few  hours,  and  meanwhile  I 
will  try  and  get  a  "  kip."  I  have  had  a  very  lucky  escape 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,  1915  231 

and  I  feel  I  have  done  some  good  work  to-day.  They  ran 
short  of  bombs  last  night.  I  got  350  up  to  them,  and 
although  at  least  ten  out  of  my  fifty-five  bombers  were 
knocked  out  by  5  p.m.  and  I  never  chucked  one  bomb 
myself,  I  have  left  some  good  men  up  there  who  will  do 
fine  work  when  required. 

I  shall  be  all  right  very  soon. 

Saturday  morning :  On  ambulance  train  to  Boulogne 
or  somewhere.  They  keep  on  finding  little  bits  of  shell 
all  over  me.  I  have  been  inoculated  against  tetanus 
and  am  sleepy  and  happy. 

To  E.  S.  P.  Hayncs. 

LIVERPOOL  MERCHANTS'  MOBILE  HOSPITAL,  B.E.F. 
i  August,  1915. 

Here  I  am  very  comfortably  in  bed  in  a  hospital  a  few 
miles  from  the  coast.  I  was  wounded  slightly  in  the 
battle  at  Hooge,  east  of  Ypres,  on  Friday,  and  was,  as  I 
have  been  on  several  occasions,  extraordinarily  lucky.  .  . 

I  thought  of  you  this  morning  on  reading  the  report 
in  yesterday's  paper  of  the  action  in  the  Court  of  Appeal 
with  a  view  to  upsetting  the  gift  of  £10,000  to  the  Secular 
Society.  The  Master  of  the  Rolls'  comments  on  the  sub- 
ject of  blasphemy  and  religious  liberty  seem  to  have  been 
rather  good.  Who  the  devil  brought  the  action  ?  Some 
confounded  Christian  organization,  I  suppose.  No  doubt 
you  have  seen  about  the  incident.  Could  you  do  some- 
thing to  show  up  whoever  brought  the  action  ?  If  I  were 
in  England  I  would  ferret  it  out  and  make  a  row. 

To  J.  C.  Squire. 

LIVERPOOL  MERCHANTS'  MOBILE  HOSPITAL,  B.E.F. 

7  August.  1915- 

...  I  am,  unlike  a  lot  of  people  out  here,  genuinely 
hard-worked.  That  is  to  say  it  is  quite  a  job  for  me  to  get 
an  hour  to  myself.  I  am  doing  an  officer's  and  sergeant's 
work  for  sixty  men,  and  in  addition  do  quartermaster- 
sergeant  for  150  men  (the  Headquarters'  detachments — • 
i.e.  bombers,  machine-gunners,  signallers,  etc.)  when 


232  KEELING  LETTERS 

we  are  out  of  the  trenches.  Then  the  Red  Feather  *  takes 
up  no  small  amount  of  time — arranging  for  distribution, 
collecting  addresses  for  posting  to  and  collecting  money 
and  sending  it  to  England  is  as  much  bother  as  the  writing 
and  editing.  This  time,  as  you  have  seen,  a  good  pro- 
portion comes  from  my  pen — "  Ypres,"  "  Bivviarchi- 
tecture,"  the  Notes,  and  the  account  of  our  meeting  with 
the  ist  Battalion. 

I  can't  mention  the  name  of  this  place,  although  I  saw 
a  description  of  it  by  name  in  the  Times  or  the  Telegraph 
the  other  day  !  However,  I  can  tell  you  that  it  is  a  mile 
from  the  sea.  One  has  a  glorious  view  of  it  from  the 
last  chalk  ridge  which  runs  into  the  sand-hills.  One 
looks  across  a  backwater  and  a  wooded  sand-hill  ridge 
to  a  little  red  seaside  resort  with  two  lighthouses — which 
keep  on  reminding  me  in  an  absurd  way  of  the  minarets 
of  Scutari.  Over  the  ridge,  and  beyond  the  red  houses, 
is  the  sea.  Turning  half-right,  you  can  see  the  mouth 
of  the  backwater,  formed  of  low  tapering  sandbanks — 
enclosing  a  few  fishing  -  boats,  and  then  the  open  sea 
beyond.  The  skies  have  mostly  been  grey  since  I  came 
here.  Grey  and  blue  seem  to  dominate  all  other  colours  ; 
the  green  of  the  woods  on  the  sand  ridges  and  of  the 
vegetation  on  the  stretches  of  sand  is  so  subdued. 

It  is  the  first  time  this  summer  that  I  have  had  a  chance 
of  enjoying  a  landscape  in  the  old  way.  One  does  enjoy 
scenery,  of  course,  when  campaigning — I  had  a  most  pictur- 
esque view  of  Poperinghe  over  the  corn  and  hop  fields  and 
trees  from  the  entrance  of  my  bivvy  in  the  last  camp.  But 
everything  up  there  is  under  the  shadow  of  the  big  gun. 
One  lives — enjoys  life  full-bloodedly  and  even  thinks  and 
feels  aesthetically  now  and  again — but  having  come  away, 
one  knows  that  there  was  a  special  abnormal  tinge  over 
the  whole  of  life. 

I  really  have  hopes  of  a  big  democratic  international 
outburst  against  war.  After  six  or  seven  months  in  and 
near  the  firing-line,  I  am  sure  that  the  English,  French, 
Belgians,  and  Italians  would  respond  to  it.  The  only 
question  is  the  Germans.  And  I  can't  help  having  hopes 
1  His  regimental  paper. 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,  1915  233 

even  of  them — if  only  we  don't  humiliate  them  too  much. 
The  Austro-German  Alliance  is  an  example  of  how  a 
generous  peace  does  pay.  We  must  definitely  defeat 
the  Germans,  or  at  the  least  very  definitely  defeat  their 
aggression — even  that  is  not  nearly  done  yet,  in  spite  of 
the  habitual  phrases  of  the  English  newspapers.  But 
having  done  that,  I  am  for  all  possible  generosity — in  spite 
of  all  atrocities  and  barbarities. 

I  am  afraid  there  is  little  chance  of  this  view  being 
adopted.  I  think  I  am  more  for  generosity  than  the 
Statesman  is  at  the  moment.  But,  of  course,  it  is  really 
too  early  to  discuss  the  point  semi-academically.  The 
demand  for  a  public  discussion  of  the  terms  of  peace 
now  is  too  childish  for  words — even  from  a  Pacifist  point 
of  view. 

This  business  of  fighting  depends  to  a  tremendous  extent 
on  one's  moods.  I  think  I  am  more  cheerful  at  it  than 
most.  I  have  never  been  depressed  since  I  came  out 
here,  except  for  the  third  and  fourth  days  in  this  hospital, 
when  I  got  a  fit  of  funk  and  dread  of  the  firing-line. 
But  I  know  I  am  all  right  again  now,  and  shall  be  righter 
if  possible  when  I  am  back  there.  After  all,  it's  just  a 
game  of  dice  with  Death.  She  has  to  win  a  lot  of  throws 
to  get  you  beat,  and  (at  least  in  the  eyes  of  a  good  atheist) 
the  dice  aren't  loaded. 

The  great  thing  to  keep  you  going  is  to  be  busy.  And 
so  I  am  likely  to  keep  going  without  much  difficulty,  for 
I  somehow  always  manage  to  be  busy  and  always  see 
undone  work  immediately  ahead  of  me. 

Tell  Randall  that  the  soldier  with  the  brown  beard  is 
coming  to  see  him  again  some  day.  .  .  . 

To  Mrs.  Hubback. 

LIVERPOOL  MERCHANTS'  HOSPITAL. 
8  August,  1915. 

This  is  to  let  you  know  that  I  am  quite  all  right  again 
after  a  week  in  hospital  and  expect  to  be  back  at  duty 
very  soon.  ...  I  never  suffered  any  pain.  I  was  lucky 
to  be  knocked  out  soon  after  my  battalion  got  up  there. 
I  don't  think  we  have  more  than  half  a  dozen  officers  left 


234  KEELING  LETTERS 

and  probably  half  the  men  in  action  were  wiped  out.  It 
was  all  shell  fire  in  the  part  where  I  was,  in  a  wood.  I 
never  saw  a  German.  In  the  original  attack  which  they 
made  early  in  the  day  they  used  liquid  fire  for  the  first 
time  against  the  English.  .  .  . 

God,  how  one  will  value  and  enjoy  life  if  one  does  have 
the  luck  to  survive  the  war  !  You  can't  think  what  the 
simple  luxuries  mean  to  one.  I  tasted  a  good  bit  of  roast 
beef  to-day  for  the  first  time  for  months.  You  can't 
imagine  the  rough  standard  of  physical  civilization  one 
sinks  to  when  one  has  slept  on  the  ground  almost  without 
intermission  for  months,  eaten  and  drunk  out  of  a  dirty 
tin,  chased  lice  or  tried  to  chase  them  out  of  one's  clothes 
as  a  matter  of  course  every  few  days,  and  not  used  a  hand- 
kerchief for  God  knows  how  long.  The  excellent  baths 
one  gets  after  coming  out  of  the  trenches  are  the  one  thing 
that  keeps  one  on  a  somewhat  higher  level. 

I  don't  think  people  realize  the  difference  between  the 
officers'  and  common  soldiers'  lot  out  here.  The  differ- 
ence in  regard  to  hardships  endured  is  enormous.  That 
is  the  chief  thing  which  makes  a  commission  distasteful 
to  me.  One  doesn't  grudge  it  to  the  company  officers, 
but  I  think  the  subalterns  get  more  than  their  share  of 
comfort,  though  I  daresay  that  their  health  rate  entitles 
them  to  a  bit  more.  And  one  does  not  blame  the  individuals  ; 
it  is  just  the  system  that  is  obnoxious  in  a  democratic  age. 

I  was  a  bit  irritated  just  before  I  got  wounded  at  some 
incidents  in  a  small  town  near  where  we  were  lying.  Officers 
could  go  there  freely  ;  we  had  to  get  passes  and  could 
only  get  a  limited  number.  Then  when  we  got  there 
and  tried  to  get  a  simple  meal,  poached  eggs  and  coffee, 
at  a  restaurant,  one  was  put  off  with  excuses,  while  all 
the  time  the  young  officers,  not  of  the  most  attractive 
class,  were  enjoying  a  jolly  good  feed.  This  happened 
to  me  and  also  to  some  of  my  men  on  a  separate  occasion. 
When  one  had  just  come  out  of  the  trenches,  up  to  which 
men  already  overloaded  with  their  equipment  had  had 
to  carry  special  bags  of  rations  and  whisky  for  officers 
through  communication  trenches  with  water  up  to  their 
knees,  one  felt  a  bit  sick.  I  am  afraid  the  language  that 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,   1915  235 

I  and  a  Radical  fellow-sergeant  used  about  officers  on  our 
way  back  to  camp  was  decidedly  "  detrimental  to  good 
order  and  military  discipline." 

However,  I  have  known  officers'  rations  go  astray  in  the 
trenches.  Some  day,  if  I  come  back,  I  can  tell  you  some 
amusing  yarns  about  that.  I  will  omit  them  now,  in  case 
a  Censor  reads  so  far. 

I  am  extraordinarily  fit  now  and  am  really  very  lucky 
to  get  this  rest.  What  with  frequent  nocturnal  digging 
expeditions  when  out  of  the  trenches  and  training  bomb- 
throwers,  one  doesn't  get  a  great  deal  of  rest,  and  sleep 
in  the  trenches,  at  any  rate  in  trenches  in  the  Ypres  salient, 
is  not  exactly  easy  to  obtain. 

I  hope  the  children  are  flourishing.  I  should  like  to 
be  able  to  have  a  talk  to  you.  I  feel  as  if  I  should  talk 
for  days  on  end  if  Fate  took  me  back  to  Blighty. 

To  R.  C.  K.  Ensor. 

LIVERPOOL  MERCHANTS'  MOBILE  HOSPITAL,  B.E.F. 
n  August,  1915. 

It  really  amounts  to  something  pretty  near  a  continuous 
battle  in  (at  any  rate  a  large  portion  of)  the  trenches  in 
the  Ypres  salient.  You  go  "  in  "  for  a  week,  expecting 
to  lose  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  men,  without 
making  or  repelling  an  attack.  We  (i.e.  my  battalion) 
lost  fifty-six,  including  live  or  six  killed,  in  eight  days, 
and  were  considered  lucky.  Big  shells,  whizz-bangs, 
trench  mortars,  rifle  grenades,  and  bullets  all  take  their 
toll — and  hand  grenades  too  in  places  like  the  barriers 
of  "  international  trenches  "  (generally  old  communica- 
tion trenches  which  formerly  were  wholly  within  the  lines 
of  one  side  or  the  other,  but,  owing  to  an  advance,  run 
across  from  one  fire-trench  to  the  other  and  are  barricaded 
generally  by  both  sides  at  two  or  more  points).  The 
barriers  of  the  international  trenches  are  generally  manned 
by  bombers.  Of  course,  the  international  trench  also 
serves  as  a.  starting-point  from  which  to  make  a  lateral 
sap  and  so  secure  un  advanced  fire-trench — it  saves  you 


236  KEELING  LETTERS 

the  trouble  of  making  a  preliminary  sap  at  right  angles 
(roughly)  to  your  own  fire-trench  and  also  the  risk  of  de- 
tection while  making  such  a  preliminary  sap. 

Life  in  the  trenches — at  any  rate  all  round  the  Ypres 
salient — is  by  no  means  a  matter  of  sitting  or  standing 
still  on  guard,  varied  by  sniping.      There  is  endless  work 
improving  and  repairing  trenches,  making  dug-outs,  bomb- 
stores  (frequently  carelessly  made  and  occasionally  blown 
up  by  a  casual  bit  of  shell),  working  at  saps  (under  direction 
of  R.E.'s)  and  mines  (by  which  of  course  one  means  the 
underground  tunnel  as  distinguished  from  the  open  sap — 
though  the  terms  "  sap  "  and  "  mine  "  are  sometimes  used 
loosely  as  equivalents).     I  scarcely  ever  got  over  four  hours' 
sleep  in  the  twenty-four  for  the  eight  days  which  I  did 
in  the  fire-trench  in  the  third  week  in  July.      The   com- 
panies did  four  days  in  the  fire-trench  and  four  in  supports, 
and  I  had  practically  all  my  sixty  bomb-throwers  up  the 
whole  time.      There  was  an  awful  lot  of  work  for  us  to 
do,  partly  owing  in  a  roundabout  way  to  the  fact  that 
our  brigade  worked  the  trenches  in  a  different  way  to  the 
brigade  we  took  over  from.      The  other  brigade  had  only 
two  battalions  up  at  once  ;    whereas  we  had    three    up. 
So  we  had  to  take  over  fragments  of  two  battalions'  lines 
instead  of  having  simply  to  take  over  from  one  battalion 
(I  expect  it  means  that  our  brigade  had  the  same  number 
of  companies  in  the  firing-line  as  the  other — I  never  tried 
to  calculate  it  exactly — though  each  battalion  had  a  different 
in-and-out   system).     Anyway  it  was  a  damned  nuisance 
to  me,  as  I  had  to  make  a  new  central  bomb-store,  etc. 
My   officer   had   nearly   blown   himself   up — lost   his   right 
hand  and  nearly  lost  a  leg — in  a  horrible  bomb  accident 
just    before   we  went   up,  so   I    have   since   been   in    sole 
charge  of  our  bomb-throwing  department  and  had  no  end 
of  work. 

Three  days  after  we  had  come  out  we  got  the  order  to 
stand  to  at  4.30  a.m.  in  our  rest  camp,  and  soon  after 
moved  off  to  help  another  brigade  of  our  Division  against 
that  bloody  liquid-fire  attack.  You  will  have  seen  the 
account  of  my  experience  on  that  day.  I  was  devilish 
lucky — in  not  being  killed  and  in  being  knocked  out  pretty 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,   1915  237 

early  on.  My  battalion  did  not  get  relieved  till  about 
thirty  hours  after  I  was  knocked  out.  And  I  believe 
our  Division  has  been  in  this  additional  fighting  in  the 
same  place,  reported  in  yesterday's  paper.  The  bombers 
went  up  fifty-five  strong  on  the  day  when  I  was  wounded. 
Nineteen  men  were  laid  out — none,  I  believe,  killed — before 
they  left,  and  I  think  we  fared  better  proportionately  than 
the  battalion  as  a  whole. 

I  have  nothing  wrong  with  me  now  except  one  or  two 
small  sore  lumps  on  the  head — still  containing  tiny  pieces 
of  shell,  which  are  not  worth  the  trouble  of  cutting  out— 
and  an  apparently  permanently  enlarged  and  rather  sore 
knuckle.  I  expect  I  shall  carry  said  bits  of  shell  as  a 
memento  of  Flanders  to  my  grave-;  none  of  these  things 
are  of  any  serious  inconvenience  or  enough  to  affect  my 
value  as  an  effective  fighting  unit.  .  .  . 

I  am  a  little  depressed  about  the  mechanical  equipment 
and  detailed  trench  tactics  of  the  British  Army  out  here. 
Shells  and  artillery  are  all  right  as  far  as  I  can  judge — 
my  opinion  on  this,  of  course,  is  not  based  on  any  personal 
knowledge.  But  I  don't  think  we  pay  nearly  enough 
attention  to  the  details  of  trench  warfare.  The  Germans 
are  not  so  wonderfully  clever  at  it.  The  tricks  of  trench 
warfare  are  mostly  of  the  schoolboy  hide-and-seek  level, 
from  the  intellectual  point  of  view.  But  having  once 
discovered  a  really  successful  trick — probably  an  almost 
childish  stratagem — you  want  to  exploit  it  systematic- 
ally for  all  it  is  worth.  That  is  what  the  Germans  do 
well  and  what  we  don't  do  well.  I  realized  this  the  more 
as  I  lived  in  what  had  been  a  German  trench  for  the  last 
eight  days  that  I  was  "  up  "  and  occupied  a  German  dug- 
out, wore  a  German  pair  of  boots  when  I  saw  the  chance 
of  having  dry  feet  at  least  for  a  few  hours — but  of  course, 
they  got  soaked  too — ate  out  of  a  German  canteen,  and 
generally  helped  myself  to  all  sorts  of  conveniences  from 
old  German  trenches  in  the  rear.  I  don't  know  how  much 
I  can  say  without  running  a  risk  of  the  Censor  excising 
something  or  destroying  this  letter.  But  I  will  say  that 
I  don't  think  our  lower-grade  Staff  work  is  good — I  mean 
brigade  and  possibly  divisional  Staffs.  I  daresay,  on 


238  KEELING  LETTERS 

the  other  hand,  our  Army  Corps  and  Army  and  General 
Headquarters  Staffs  are  very  good. 

There  is  an  enormous  contrast  between  the  hardships 
endured  by  officers  and  men  out  here.  One  doesn't 
grudge  extra  comforts  to  the  company  officers,  but  I  think 
the  subalterns  get  more  than  their  share  of  it,  considering 
that  they  have  a  good  deal  less  work  than  the  average 
sergeant,  far  less  physical  labour  than  our  average  private. 

Well,  I  hope  this  bloody  war  is  going  to  end  soon — of 
course  there  is  really  no  chance  of  that,  but  the  sooner 
the  better.  I  really  think  that  the  sense  of  relief  on  the 
part  of  millions  of  fighting  men  may  fire  some  pen — Euro- 
pean expression — though  one  doesn't  want  to  hope  for  too 
much.  But  I  do  think  it  will  be  a  bit  of  a  job  for  the 
rulers  of  Europe  to  get  us  soldiers  all  at  each  others'  throats 
again.  I  am  all  for  a  definite  defeat  of  Germany  (we 
are  far  enough  from  that),  but  I  think  I  am  probably  a  little 
less  Germania  est  delenda  than  a  lot  of  people  at  home — 
not  from  a  desire  to  see  the  misery  of  fighting  ended,  but 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  future.  There  seems  to  be 
an  awful  lot  of  talk  amongst  English  people  of  carving 
Germany  up,  scrapping  her  Navy  completely,  etc.  I  can't 
see  any  hope  that  way.  But  anyway  it  is  too  early 
to  talk  about  that — except  in  private. 

There  is  a  fine  view  of  an  estuary  and  the  sea  here — 
a  delightfully  romantic  miniature  scenery  in  the  sand-hills, 
which  are  pretty  well  covered  with  vegetation  and  trees 
and  mixed  up  with  the  chalk  ridges  in  a, way  that  I  don't 
think  you  see  anywhere  in  England.  .  .  . 

I  expect  I  shall  be  back  in  the  firing-line  before  long. 
I  don't  want  to  stop  at  the  Base  long,  as  I  feel  I  ought 
to  be  back  with  my  men,  as  I  am  in  sole  charge  of  them, 
and  if  my  other  sergeant  were  knocked  out  there  would 
only  be  rather  young  N.C.O.'s  left. 

To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

LIVERPOOL  MERCHANTS'  MOBILE  HOSPITAL,  B.E.F. 
13  August,   1915. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  the  books  which  came  last 
night,    just    the   sort    I    wanted.      Unfortunately,   I    shall 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,  1915  239 

be  leaving  here  to-morrow  or  the  day  after  ;  they  are  awfully 
good  to  me  here  and  would  have  kept  me  a  bit  longer,  I 
expect,  if  I  had  said  nothing,  but  I  felt  I  ought  to  be  back 
with  my  men  and  asked  for  my  discharge.  I  wish  I  could 
have  stayed  and  read  those  books.  However,  I  daresay 
I  shall  have  a  day  or  two  in  the  convalescent  camp  and 
another  day  or  two  at  the  Base  camp,  both  of  which  are  close 
by  here,  waiting  for  the  draft  to  go  up  to  my  battalion.  .  .  . 

I  had  a  letter  from  A.  last  night  that  carried  me  back 
to  many  old  days  in  my  dead,  mad  past.  Well,  there  is 
always  a  chance  that  there  is  some  sort  of  a  personal  life 
beyond  death,  and  if  so,  I  might  see  B.  again  before 
very  long. 

It  is  dying,  not  death,  that  one  fears.  I  feel  more  and 
more  that  there  is  nothing  to  fear  in  death.  Some  men 
really  are  brave  by  nature.  I  myself,  like,  I  think,  the 
majority  of  civilized  men,  am  only  brave  by  conviction 
and  histrionic  effort. 

By  the  way,  the  yarns  in  some  of  the  papers  about  the 
revival  of  religion  at  the  Front  amongst  the  English  are  all 
rot ;  as  you  might  imagine,  the  chaplains  have  to  hunt 
out  their  flock  by  ones.  There  are  a  few  religious  fellows 
about,  and  it  is  quite  clear  that  their  religion  is  a  help  to 
them  in  the  firing-line.  One  dark  night  I  was  talking  in 
the  trenches  to  a  corporal  of  my  battalion  whom  I  only  knew 
by  sight.  We  were  discussing  our  feelings  in  the  middle 
of  the  dangers  of  the  trenches,  which  were  a  hot  place. 
Suddenly  he  said,  "  Well,  you  see,  I  am  the  Lord's,  and 
that  is  a  great  thing."  I  thought  I  had  not  heard  what 
he  said,  and  asked  him  to  repeat  it.  Then  he  explained 
that  he  was  one  of  the  chosen.  I  responded  politely,  and 
went  away  marvelling  at  human  nature  and  religion,  and 
the  history  of  mankind  in  general. 

To  Mrs.  Green. 

B.E.F.     i   September,  1915. 

I  am  now  engaged  in  running  a  school  for  teaching  men 
bomb-throwing  for  my  brigade.  It  is  a  week's  job,  instead 
of  going  into  the  trenches.  It  is  a  good  way  back,  which 
is  not  unpleasant  for  a  change.  Enclosed  is  a  very  small 


240  KEELING  LETTERS     \ 

fragment  of  shell  which  I  got  out  of  my  head  to-day.     I 
carry  several  similar  pieces  about  in  various  places — it  is 
rather  an  amusing  souvenir.     No  sooner  had  I  arrived  in 
this  camp  than  I  was  bitten  by  the  farm  dog  in  the  leg,  not 
very  badly  though,  and  having  iodine  at  hand,  I  was  able  to 
stop  any  risk  of  poisoning  and  went  down  and  got  dressed 
at  the  field  ambulance  in  a  limber  wagon,  which  I  will 
never  do  again  as  long  as  I  live.      The  jolting  over  the 
cobbles  was  much  worse  than  the  dog  bite.      It  was  rather 
depressing  to  come  back  and  find  only  260  of  the  original 
fighting  men  of  my  battalion  left,  beside  a  hundred  or  so 
of  Staff  men  who  do  not  go  into  the  firing-line.      All  my 
best  friends  amongst  the  officers  are  deader  badly  wounded. 
You  probably  saw  my  name  in  the  casualty  lists  last  Satur- 
day.     Weather   a   bit   chilly   to-day,    an   anticipation   of 
the  autumn   and  winter  campaign,    but  it  doesn't  do  to 
think  ahead  here.      Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof.     I  may  possibly  come  on  five  days'  leave  any 
time  during  the  next  two  or  three  months.      My  nerves 
are  not  what  they  were  before  I  was  wounded ;  every  one 
seems  to  be  the  same.     One  gets  steadily  less  cool  out  here. 
Every  bombardment  uses  one  up  a  bit  more,  I  think — at  any 
rate  if  you  have  been  hit.      What  damnable  rot  this  con- 
scription agitation  is  !    It  is  all  nonsense  for  the  Harmsworth 
Press  to  pretend  that  every  one  out  here  is  keen  about  it. 
I  am  more  against  it  than  ever  I  was,  and  I  very  much  doubt 
if  a  plebiscite  of  the  Army  here  would  get  a  majority  for 
compulsory    service.      There    aren't    going    to    be    many 
militarists  among  those  of  us  who  go  through  and  survive 
this  war;  in  fact,  I  get  more  and  more  hopeful  of  a  really 
big    international    democratic    movement    after    the    war. 
I  think  it  will  swamp  all  such  hatred  sentiment  as  civilian 
journalists   succeed   in    stirring   up.     I  hope   to   goodness 
something  is  going  to  happen  to  our  advantage  in  South- 
East  Europe  ;  that  is  the  critical  place  now.     The  Dardan- 
elles  fighting   must  be  pretty  awful,   a  good   deal  worse 
than  this  as  regards  the  ordinary  trench  warfare  I  should 
think,  though  I  daresay  things  are  about  the  same  there 
as  in  the  Ypres  salient. 
Well,  no  time  for  more  now. 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,   1915  241 

To  J.  C.  Squire. 

6TH  D.C.L.I.,  B.E.F. 

15  September,  1915. 

Glad  to  see  you  are  dealing  with  soldiers'  songs.  The 
best  one  is  unfortunately  unprintable.  We  sang  it  as 
we  marched  across  the  Belgian  frontier  some  months 
ago.  It  goes  as  follows  : — 

But  the  following  is  not  a  bad  specimen.  It  originated 
in  England,  but  may  also  be  heard  ou  the  cobbled  roads 
of  French  and  Belgian  Flanders : — 

Kitchener's  Army, 

Shillin'  a  day  ! 
Stuck  in  the  guardroom, 

Lose  all  your  pay  ! 
What  shall  we  do,  boys  ? 

Let's  run  away  ! 
Kitchener's  Army, 

Shillin'  a  day. 

An  interesting  variant  on  the  last  two  lines,  which  I 
believe  originated  in  my  own  battalion,  is  : — 

Join  the  Canadians, 
Dollar  a  day  ! 

This  song  clearly  justifies  the  German  description  of 
Kitchener's  Army  as  "  mercenaries "  attracted  by  an 
enormous  remuneration. 

I  do  not  know  whether  my  next  specimen  is  really  a 
genuine  soldiers'  song  or  an  adaptation  of  a  "  curry  " 
rhyme.  But  I  have  never  come  across  it  outside  the 
New  Army : — 

We  work  all  day,  we  work  all  night, 

We  work  all  day  on  Sunday, 
And  all  we  get  for  overtime 

Is  "  Don't  go  sick  on  Monday." 

"  At  the  halt  on  the  right  form  platoon  "  used  to  be  a 
great  favourite  when  we  were  performing  this  evolution 

17 


242  KEELING  LETTERS 

ad  nauseam  among  the  mole-hills  of  Laffan's  Plain.  But 
it  has  not  been  quite  forgotten  out  here.  The  tune  belongs 
by  right  to  a  song  called  "  The  Red,  White,  and  Blue," 
which  seems  to  suggest  Unionist  Working  Men's  Clubs  :— 

At  the  halt  on  the  right  form  platoon, 

At  the  halt  on  the  right  form  platoon, 

If  the  odd  numbers  don't  mark  time  two  paces, 

How  the  hell  can  the  rest  form  platoon  ? 

Repetition  of  the  same  line  seems  to  be  a  characteristic 
of  many  of  the  soldier  folk-songs  of  the  New  Army.  I 
believe  there  is  a  civilian  song  or  hymn  with  a  well-known 
tune  called  "  When  the  roll  is  called  up  yonder."  The 
tune  has  been  provided  with  the  following  words  out  here  :— 

When  the  beer  is  on  the  table, 

When  the  beer  is  on  the  table, 

When  the  beer  is  on  the  ta-a-ble, 

When  the  beer  is  on  the  table  I'll  be  there. 

I  taught  my  section  to  sing  this  in  something  like 
French  : — 

Quand  la  biere  est  sur  la  table 
Je  suis  la ! 

And  for  the  benefit  of  the  worthies  of  Flemish  beer- 
houses I  translated  it  into  what  I  hope  is  good  Flemish  :— 

Als  het  bier  is  op  de  tabel 
Ik  ben  daar. 

Sometimes  the  simplicity  of  the  words  reaches  a  point 
beyond  which  refinement  is  impossible.  For  instance, 
one  rainy  night  when  we  were  marching  out  of  reserve 
dugouts  into  a  bare  field  which  was  the  site  of  our  rest 
camp,  some  one  started  to  drone  to  a  hymn  tune  the 
words  : — 

Forty  days  and  forty  nights, 

Forty  days  and  forty  n-n-ights, 

Forty  days  and  forty  n-n-n-nights, 

Forty  days  and  (celerrima)  forty  nights. 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,   1915  243 

What  the  point  of  the  forty  days  and  forty  nights  was, 
God  alone  knows !  But  the  song  lasted  till  we  were 
fed-up  and  drowned  it  with  something  else. 

E.  contrasts  the  soldier  folk-song  with  the  "  machine- 
made  "  music-hall  ditty.  I  don't  agree  with  him. 

Anyway,  I  will  have  no  aspersions  on  the  ballad  of 
"  Isabel."  A  lance-corporal  out  of  my  lot  brought  it 
back  from  an  Aldershot  music-hall  one  night  shortly  before 
we  left  England.  It  has  cheered  us  up  on  many  an  occa- 
sion. Well  do  I  remember  how  I  brought  a  detachment 
out  of  the  trenches  one  night  after  eight  days  in  the  front 
line  of  the  salient.  My  feet  had  been  wet  for  some  days 
on  end,  except  for  a  brief  interval  of  a  few  hours  after  I 
had  put  on  a  dry  pair  of  socks  and  a  good  pair  of  German 
boots  which  I  found  in  an  old  German  dugout.  Ordinarily 
I  swear  I  can  down  any  man  in  my  battalion  at  marching 
or  carrying  ;  but  that  night  my  feet  seemed  like  pulp 
and  each  step  on  the  cobbles  made  me  wince.  We  were 
all  tired  and  hungry.  Then  I  started  to  sing  "  Isabel," 
and  she  took  us  all  the  way  home  into  camp  to  hot  tea 
and  a  dry  "  kip  "  : — 

Farewell,  Isabel,  Isabel  ! 

I  got  to  leave  you,  I  got  to  go. 
You  know  very  well,  Isabel, 

I  got  to  leave  you,  to  right  the  foe. 
You  know  very  well,  Isabel, 

As  the  battle  I  go  through, 
I  shall  do  my  best  when  I'm  in  it  to  win  it 

As  I won you. 

"  As  I  won  yow  "  is  what  the  Brummies  (Brummagem 
lads)  say,  and  the  form  in  which  I  always  think  of  that 
line  I  think  I  shall  call  my  next  daughter  Isabel  after 
the  war. 

If  you  could  get  me  a  Flemish  grammar  I  should  be 
grateful.  And  I  should  like  to  have  Seton  \Vatson 's  new 
pamphlet  and  Brailsford's  book  on  foreign  policy. 

I  see  that  a  Frenchman  has  just  dug  out  the  history 
of  Mme.  de  War  ens.  I  was  always  very  much  interested 
in  her  from  the  "  Confessions  "  and  hope  to  read  the  book 


244  KEELING  LETTERS 

some  time,  but  no  time  for  that  now.  The  writer  of  the 
review  is  rather  merciless  to  poor  Jean  Jacques.  Unlike 
most  people,  I  detest  his  politics  and  political  writings 
but  feel  a  keen  interest  in,  if  not  a  sympathy  with,  him  as 
a  man.  He  was  the  eighteenth-century  Wells,  and  Voltaire 
was  the  Tolstoi-Shaw.  Voltaire  was  much  the  more 
important  man  on  the  whole. 

At  an  Army  bomb  school  in  a  pleasant  neighbourhood 
now.  Returning  to  my  own  brigade  bomb  school  in  a 
day  or  two. 

A    SOLDIER    ON    COMPULSION ' 

BY  A  SERGEANT  OF  THE  FIRST  NEW  ARMY  (F.  H.  K.) 

One  has  not  the  time  or  the  opportunity  out  here  to 
follow  in  detail  the  course  of  public  political  controversies 
in  England.  But  I  have  recently  read  some  account 
of  the  efforts  of  certain  officers  who  have  been  serving 
at  the  Front  to  add  fuel  to  the  flame  of  the  conscription- 
ist  agitation  in  England.  These  officers  appear  to  have 
represented  that  there  is  a  general,  if  not  a  universal,  demand 
for  compulsory  service  among  the  Army  in  France  and 
Belgium.  Since  definite  statements  of  such  a  nature 
have  been  made,  it  seems  desirable  that,  if  they  do  not 
represent  the  facts,  a  public  denial  should  be  given  to 
them.  Now  as  a  matter  of  fact  there  is  nothing  approach- 
ing a  general  public  opinion  upon  debatable  topics  among 
the  soldiers  in  Flanders,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the 
organs  for  the  creation  of  a  general  public  opinion  among 
a  million  men  do  not  exist.  Moreover,  the  great  majority 
of  the  soldiers  serving  in  Flanders  were  in  civilian  life  at 
the  outbreak  of  the  war.  Even  several  months  of  active 
service  do  not  avail  to  extinguish  one's  civilian  ideas  and 
prejudices  on  matters  of  public  interest.  We  have  not 
ceased  to  be  Conservatives  or  Radicals  or  Socialists  because 
we  are  soldiers.  And  although  the  tremendous  experience 
of  a  few  months  in  the  firing-line  has  a  far-reaching  effect 
on  the  personal  outlook  of  the  individual,  the  absence  of 

1  From  the  New  Statesman,  2  October,  1915. 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,  1915  245 

opportunities  for  public  discussion  prevents  the  creation 
of  any  general  trend  of  opinion  which  could  cut  across 
the  civilian  politics  of  the  men  at  the  Front. 

I  happen  to  have  had  exceptional  opportunities  for 
discovering  what  are  in  fact  the  various  types  of  opinion 
on  the  subject  of  conscription  held  by  the  Army  in  France 
and  Belgium.  For  over  two  months  I  was  serving  in 
my  regiment  on  a  "  battalion  job  "  which  brought  me 
into  contact  with  officers  and  men  of  every  company. 
(The  great  bulk  of  men  live  very  much  in  their  own  com- 
panies, if  not  in  their  own  platoons.)  I  then  spent  the 
best  part  of  a  month  in  a  hospital,  a  convalescent  camp, 
and  a  base  camp,  meeting  and  talking  to  literally  hundreds 
of  men  of  numerous  regiments  of  the  old  Regular  Army, 
the  New  Army,  the  Territorials,  and  the  Canadians.  The 
last  month  I  have  spent  close  up  to  the  firing-line,  but 
mainly  in  brigade  and  Army  training  schools  for  a  certain 
specialized  branch  of  infantry  work.  I  have  discussed  the 
question  of  compulsory  service  with  large  numbers  of  men, 
not  in  a  combative  or  propagandist  spirit,  but  with  a  view 
to  discovering  what  men  are  thinking  and  feeling.  I  deny 
confidently  that  there  is  any  general  demand  for  conscrip- 
tion. The  great  majority  of  men  have  not  thought  about 
the  matter  one  way  or  the  other.  One  minority  is  anxious 
to  see  the  "  millions  of  slackers  "  still  in  England  made 
to  "do  their  bit  "  in  the  trenches.  Another  minority, 
at  least  as  large  and  probably  larger,  is  equally  emphatic 
on  the  other  side,  for  just  the  same  reasons,  good  and  bad, 
that  the  average  Radical  or  Labour  man  at  home  is  opposed 
to  compulsory  service.  Underlying  these  is  a  feeling 
which  a  soldier  can  perhaps  appreciate  better  than  a  civilian 
that  it  is  "  up  to  "  the  voluntary  Army  which  has  begun 
the  fighting  for  England  in  this  war  to  see  the  job  through, 
and  that  the  introduction  of  a  conscripted  element  would 
be  a  blow  to  our  pride.  I  share  this  feeling  strongly  ; 
but  I  admit  that,  in  spite  of  its  importance  in  the  con- 
scription controversy,  it  does  not  amount  to  a  conclusive 
argument. 

So  much  for  my  attempt  to  gauge  the  feelings  of  my 
comrades  out  here.  May  I  be  permitted  to  add  to  this 


246  KEELING  LETTERS 

a  brief  statement  of  the  arguments  which,  after  four  months 
of  active  service,  have  made  me  personally  more  definitely 
opposed  to  conscription  than  ever  I  was  before  ? 

The  first  argument  is  simply  this  :  Now  that  I  know 
what  one's  experiences  in  the  firing-line  at  their  worst 
actually  are,  I  cannot  as  a  responsible  citizen  of  a  demo- 
cratic community  be  a  party  to  compelling  any  man  willy- 
nilly  to  share  them.  I  do  not  care  what  may  be  the  logical 
outcome  of  this  point  of  view  in  relation  to  collectivist 
or  individualist  theories  of  the  State ;  I  simply  object 
to  forcing  any  man  into  the  hell  which  I  have  myself  ex- 
perienced, and  I  cannot  but  regard  any  step  taken  by  the 
State  to  compel  men  to  go  into  the  firing-line  as  a  set- 
back in  political  evolution.  I  feel  a  moral  objection  to 
compulsory  service  which  I  never  felt  before  I  had  come 
to  France  as  a  soldier. 

In  the  second  place,  the  view  which  I  now  hold  of  my 
position  as  a  soldier  in  the  New  Army  makes  me  strongly 
opposed  to  any  measure  of  compulsory  military  service. 
I  came  up  to  fight  as  a  volunteer  because  I  believed  in 
England's  position  in  this  war.  If  I  had  not  believed  in 
England's  position  I  would  not  have  come  up.  I  should 
be  perfectly  willing,  if  I  should  be  lucky  enough  to  survive 
this  war,  to  continue  to  keep  myself  fit  as  a  soldier  by 
undergoing  a  short  annual  period  of  training.  But  I 
would  under  no  circumstances  bind  myself  to  come  up 
and  fight  in  any  future  war.  I  demand  the  right  of  exer- 
cising my  individual  choice  before  I  take  up  a  rifle  for  my 
country  ;  and  if  compulsory  service  is  introduced  I  shall 
feel  that  I  have  been  deprived  of  the  most  precious  form 
of  political  liberty  which  I  have  ever  enjoyed — the  oppor- 
tunity of  volunteering  to  serve  as  a  soldier  in  a  just  war. 
Circumstances  have  made  me  directly  conscious  of  the 
meaning  of  political  liberty,  and  therefore  conscious  of 
what  its  loss  would  mean.  If  my  sentiment  appears 
to  be  obsolete  cant  to  conscriptionists  at  home,  I  can  only 
reply  that  it  is  backed  by  a  sczva  indignatio  which  makes 
me  impervious  to  ridicule. 

My  third  and  last  argument  is  the  impersonal  and  social 
reflection  of  my  second.  A  Government  or  a  Parliament 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,   1915  247 

which  can  legally  call  on  a  conscript  Army  is  obviously 
less  dependent  upon  public  opinion  in  regard  to  declaring 
war  than  a  Government  which  knows  that  it  must  rely 
upon  volunteers  for  its  conduct  of  the  war.  I  have  no 
illusions  about  the  wisdom  of  democracies  in  general  in 
matters  of  foreign  policy  ;  but  we  are  all  pretty  certain 
out  here  that  democracy  will  in  fact  make  for  peace  in 
the  next  generation. 

I  admit  that  my  three  arguments  are  not  conclusive 
if  compulsory  service  is  a  proved  necessity  from  the  point 
of  view  of  national  organization.  But  so  far  as  I  can 
gather,  conscription  is  being  advocated  for  two  main  reasons 
—first  from  the  point  of  view  of  national  expediency,  and 
secondly,  from  the  point  of  view  of  "  justice  "  or  "  fair 
play  "  as  between  one  citizen  and  another  and  as  between 
the  individual  citizen  and  the  State.  I  maintain  that 
my  contentions  are  conclusive  as  against  the  second  line 
of  conscriptionist  argument,  and  that  they  make  it  in- 
cumbent upon  the  conscriptionist  to  prove  his  case  from 
the  point  of  view  of  national  necessity  far  more  conclu- 
sively and  definitely  than  he  so  far  seems  to  have  done. 
In  fact,  of  course,  only  the  Government  has  the  necessary 
information  for  proving  that  case. 

FLANDF.RS,  September 


To  Airs.  Green. 

B.E.F.     ii  November,  1915. 

It  is  raining  heavily  again,  but  I  am  sitting  snugly  by 
a  coal  fire  in  a  large  clay  stove,  which  I  built  with  my  own 
hands,  listening  to  the  patter  on  the  tin  hut  which  is  our 
lecture-room,  also  largely  the  fruit  of  my  personal  handi- 
work. Have  been  finishing  "These  Twain"  and  also 
scanning  the  Flemish  Grammar.  I  am  decidedly  better 
off  as  regards  comfort  as  long  as  I  stay  here  than  I  was 
a  year  ago  in  Blighty,  and  have  nothing  to  grumble  at 
but  occasional  fits  of  boredom.  Of  course  I  haven't  an 
absolutely  safe  job  ;  an  appreciable  proportion  of  bomb 
instructors  get  blown  up,  but  I  know  the  detailed  explana- 
tion of  so  many  accidents  that  have  occurred  that  it  will 


248  KEELING  LETTERS 

probably  be  my  own  fault  if  I  am  the  victim  of  an  un- 
intentional explosion.  Half  my  regiment  have  gone  up 
the  line  again  to  dig,  and  then  go  into  the  trenches.  I  saw 
the  C.O.  last  night  and  told  him  that  I  was  ready  to  return 
as  and  when  required  ;  in  fact,  I  shall  probably  volunteer 
for  the  trenches  again  sooner  or  later  if  I  stop  here  a  great 
deal  longer.  I  don't  want  to  feel  after  the  war  that  I 
was  to  any  extent  an  embusqud.  They  have  applied 
several  times  to  my  regiment  to  get  me  back  from  my 
brigade  job,  but  the  brigade  insists  on  keeping  me  so  far. 
I  get  as  much  satisfaction  out  of  my  work  as  a  large  pro- 
portion, probably  the  majority,  of  men  do  in  peace-time. 
I  am  glad  when  the  day's  work  is  done  and  I  can  live  my 
own  life  as  I  like,  but  at  the  same  time  I  enjoy  teaching 
of  any  kind,  even  in  the  limited  sphere  of  instruction  which 
I  have.  There  is  a  satisfaction  to  be  got  out  of  making 
men's  minds  work,  even  around  the  ghoulish  knowledge 
of  how  to  blow  up  their  fellow-creatures.  We  shall  all 
be  expert  anarchists  after  the  war.  I  see  they  are  using 
bombs  a  lot  in  Serbia.  They  are  handy  for  throwing  on 
to  roofs  of  houses  in  village  fighting. 

I  see  from  the  papers  that  the  silly  sentimental  agitation 
about  Nurse  Cavell  still  goes  on  at  home.  A  good  many 
soldiers  out  here  don't  think  much  of  it.  I  have  discussed 
it  with  many  and  found  them  all  of  my  opinion — while 
admiring  the  woman  immensely,  I  think  the  Germans  were 
quite  within  their  rights  in  shooting  her.  The  agitation 
reveals  the  worst  side  of  the  English  character.  I  hope 
some  Suffragists  who  prefer  to  stand  for  the  principle  of 
women's  equal  responsibility  for  their  actions  will  protest 
against  the  rot  that  is  being  talked.  I  read  Balfour's 
speech  to-day.  I  am  more  and  more  in  favour  of  him  and 
Asquith  and  the  respectable,  decent  men  as  against  North- 
cliff  e  and  Lloyd  George  and  that  gang.  The  dividing  line 
in  politics  now  seems  to  be  largely  one  of  temperament, 
and  for  all  my  erratic  habits  I  have,  I  believe,  a  good  deal 
of  rock-bottom  English  instincts  in  me.  I  do  not  like 
Welshmen  or  hustlers,  or  phrasemongering  do-the-trick 
demagogues,  who  damn  the  Cabinet  just  because  they  all 
backed  their  money  on  the  wrong  horse  in  the  Dardanelles 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,   1915  249 

—if  they  really  did  ;  I  am  not  sure  yet  that  they  did. 
It  is  the  old  nous  sommcs  Irakis  cry  at  bottom — which  the 
demagogue  always  tries  to  rouse  a  democracy  with.  Will 
politics  go  back  to  the  old  lines  after  the  war  ?  I  am 
decidedly  not  a  Socialist  any  more,  according  to  the  logical 
definition  of  Socialism.  I  believe  in  State  ownership  of 
railways,  urban  land,  and  big  trusts  and  monopolies,  but  I 
believe  in  private  enterprise  very  emphatically  in  lots  of 
industries,  hedged  in  by  Factory  Acts  and  a  minimum  wage 
and  so  on — the  Australian  Labour  programme,  in  fact. 
My  Flemish  peasants  have  made  me  look  kindly  on  peasant 
proprietorship,  which  the  average  peasant  Australian  man 
quite  accepts.  The  amenity  of  communism  as  you  get 
it  in  the  Army  is  very  attractive,  but  its  wastefulness  is  also 
very  obvious.  In  fact,  I  believe  I  have  now  swallowed 
all  formulas  in  a  sense  in  which  I  never  had  before.  It 
is  a  satisfactory  feeling,  but  no  doubt  Socialists  will  call 
me  a  renegade,  while  Tories  will  find  me  just  as  revolu- 
tionary, and  Liberals  will  have  little  use  for  one  who  has 
finally  landed  in  their  fold  from  a  fautc  de  mieux  point  of 
view.  But  I  shall  never  cut  a  very  big  caper  on  the  stage 
of  history,  so  it  doesn't  much  matter,  and  if  Europe  goes 
to  war  again  I  might  die  a  good  American. 

Well,  I  enjoyed  "  These  Twain  "  immensely,  but  I  ended 
with  something  approaching  indignation  with  Hilda.  She 
emphatically  has  no  case  against  Edwin.  If  she  is  in  any 
sense  typical  of  women's  real  desires,  then  I  am  almost 
a  disciple  of  Mr.  Belfort  Bax.  He — Edwin,  not  Mr. 
B.  B. — keeps  the  machinery  of  society  going.  She  ends 
with  wholly  ignoble  snobbish  aspirations — a  dogcart 
driving  into  Burslem  to  gratify  her  vanity ;  it  is  outrageous, 
and  I  would  never  have  allowed  her  about  the  works, 
using  the  works  horse — outrageous  !  Of  course,  I  see 
her  difficulty :  not  enough  outlet.  Well,  I  am  an  honest 
Suffragist  :  still,  I  admit  it  is  a  difficult  case,  but  after  all 
boredom  with  leisure  is  not  so  infinitely  much  worse  than 
boredom  with  work.  Hilda's  end  at  Ledderedge  Hall 
is  in  one  sense  an  awful  come-down — a  materialistic 
surrender,  the  manufacture  of  an  outlet  for  her  energies 
in  a  more  elaborate  material  existence.  No  bon,  as  the 


250  KEELING  LETTERS 

lingua  franca  here  has  it.  What  a  fine  Englishman  I  am, 
criticizing  a  novel  from  an  ethical  point  of  view  !  Well, 
it  is  the  ethics  and  not  the  literature  that  interests  me. 
After  all,  ethics  is  the  art  of  life,  and  "  life,"  some  say,  "  is 
worthy  of  the  muse."  I  talked  long  this  evening  with 
my  two  Yorkshire  corporals,  who  come  from  the  G.N.R. 
plant  at  Doncaster,  where  they  work  as  skilled  engineers. 
There  is  less  of  a  gap  between  the  upper  middle  class  and 
them  than  between  them  and  their  labourers.  Their 
lives  interest  me  immensely.  I  know  the  family  history 
and  all  about  the  relations  of  one  of  them  as  well  as  I 
know  about  my  own  family.  If  you  know  how  to  talk 
to  men  you  can  cut  novels  from  the  stuff  of  life  yourself 
all  day  as  you  go  along. 

I  shall  get  my  leave  some  time,  but  there  is  a  lot  of  rotten 
cadging  for  it  out  here,  there  being  no  defined  rule  as  to 
the  order  in  which  men  go  in  each  unit,  and  I  would  rather 
the  men  who  are  still  going  up  the  line  went  first. 

Well,  good-night. 

To  E.  S.  P.  Hay  nes. 

GTH  D.C.L.I.,  B.E.F. 

12  November,  1915. 

Your  letter  written  early  in  August  reached  me  just 
a  month  afterwards  by  a  very  circuitous  route.  I  forget 
why  it  was  so  much  delayed. 

I  can  now  join  with  you  in  hating  Lloyd  George  sin- 
cerely. He  and  Northcliffe  are  the  devil.  Perhaps 
yon  saw  my  article  against  conscription  ...  a  month  or 
so  ago  ? 

Rain  and  mud  pretty  bad — but  I  personally  am  living 
a  good  deal  more  comfortably  than  I  was  a  year  ago. 
But  of  course  my  turn  to  go  up  to  the  trenches  may  come 
any  day.  I  am  ready  when  it  does.  I  can't  go  through 
anything  much  worse  than  I  have  already  been  through, 
and  what  I  have  done  before,  I  can  do  again — though  I 
do  think  one  gets  steadily  less  brave  out  here  as  one  goes 
on.  If  you  are  fairly  strong-nerved  by  nature,  the  less 
material  your  imagination  has  to  work  on  the  better. 

Am  getting  fairly  proficient  at  Flemish  and  mixing  with 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,  1915  251 

the  peasants.  I  have  made  friends  with  the  people  at 
the  farm  and  went  to  a  wedding  party  of  one  of  the 
family.  There  was  a  baby  there  whose  mother  and 
brother  and  sister  (children)  had  been  wounded  by  a  shell 
near  the  firing-line,  and  whom  the  bride  (its  aunt)  was 
looking  after  while  the  mother  was  in  hospital  in  France. 

Send  me  any  book  on  history  or  foreign  policy  if  you 
happen  to  come  across  one  of  any  interest.  I  get  a  good 
deal  of  time  for  reading,  and  enjoy  it  now,  but  cannot 
stand  trash. 

I  heard  that  the  Zepp.  which  missed  my  chambers  got 
your  offices.  Is  that  right  ?  I  hope  you  didn't  lose  any- 
thing much.  Am  giving  up  my  chambers — can't  afford  to 
keep  them  going  for  the  sake  of  the  remote  chance  of 
returning  within  a  year  or  so,  and  I  may  not  be  able  to 
afford  them  then.  .  .  . 

To  Mrs.  Green. 

B.E.F.     13  November,  1915. 

Well,  the  next  two  months  may  prove  the  climax  of  the 
war.  There  is  something  Napoleonic  about  the  German 
stroke  for  an  Empire  from  Antwerp  to  Bagdad.  I  can't 
help  admiring  it  in  a  way,  when  I  close  my  mind  for  a 
moment  to  the  horrors  of  the  whole  war.  Things  are  in 
a  very  dramatic  position.  Are  not  people  getting  utterly 
sick  of  the  Northcliffe  Press  in  England  ?  It  is  common 
to  hear  fellows  here  curse  the  Daily  Mail.  It  and  the 
Times  simply  infuriate  me.  I  loathe  conscription,  but 
I  am  prepared  to  accept  it  in  the  last  resort  if  Asquith 
and  Grey  and  Kitchener  say  it  is  needed.  But  the  dis- 
honesty of  the  conscriptionist  agitation  seems  to  me  almost 
unspeakable.  These  people  must  know  that  even  now 
equipment  lags  miles  behind  enlistment.  As  I  write,  the 
continuous  thunder  of  the  guns  four  or  six  or  more  miles 
away  rolls  on,  punctuated  by  the  horrible  "  woof  "  of 
the  big  howitzers  on  both  sides.  This  "  woof  "  is 
occasionally  followed  by  the  shriek  of  a  big  shell  fired 
at  the  town  a  mile  and  a  half  away  ;  but  of  the  half- 
dozen  dropped  into  the  town  in  the  last  quarter  of  an 
hour,  not  one  has  exploded.  They  have  just  fallen 


252  KEELING  LETTERS 

with  a  thud  into  the  earth  and  in  all  probability  have 
done  no  damage  at  all — "  duds "  we  call  these 
shells  that  don't  explode.  Things  look  black  in  the 
Balkans,  but  one  must  just  keep  cheerful.  The  political 
intrigues  at  home  seem  to  me  to  be  despicable.  I  am  all 
for  the  stodgy,  respectable  old  gang,  Asquith,  Balfour,  Grey, 
and  Kitchener,  against  the  adventurers.  One  is  almost 
tempted  to  ask  whether  these  journalists  and  politicians 
who  stir  up  dissension  are  patriots  in  any  real  sense.  What 
evidence  of  patriotism  have  they  given  ?  They  have  not 
voluntarily  sacrificed  a  penny.  They  don't  risk  their 
lives  and  they  don't  lose  their  comforts.  One  does  not 
say  that  they  should  necessarily  do  any  of  these  things, 
but  I  can't  help  feeling  that  those  who  have  not  been 
called  upon  to  do  so  might  be  a  little  less  violent  in  their 
controversial  methods.  The  articles  coming  out  in  the 
Northcliffe  Press  now  seem  to  me  to  embody  absolutely 
the  worst  side  of  England,  but  I  won't  readily  admit  that 
they  do  embody  anything  that  is  an  essential  part  of  the 
England  that  I  belong  to.  When  I  think  of  the  things, 
places,  and  people  that  I  know  and  love  in  England,  they 
seem  utterly  unrelated  to  this  blabber.  Only  one  can't 
help  regretting  that  just  at  the  moment  when  perhaps 
we  are  at  the  crisis  of  all  the  war  (the  future  of  the  world 
seems  to  me  to  be  hanging  in  the  balance  more  obviously 
than  ever  now)  the  catchwords  and  rant  and  intrigues 
and  egotism  of  men  like  Northcliffe  and  Bottomley,  and  I 
think  we  might  add  Lloyd  George,  for  he  has  practically 
joined  that  gang,  should  have  such  a  vogue.  They  stand 
out,  in  my  mind,  contrasted  equally  with  decent,  simple 
gentlemen,  with  men  of  intellect,  with  ordinary  provincial 
middle-class  people,  and  with  the  various  types  of  work- 
men whom  I  know  now  as  well  as  I  know  the  average 
Cambridge  man.  These  ranters  and  intriguers  seem  to 
me  simply  a  scum  floating  above  the  natures  of  all  these 
types,  that  do  stand  for  something  real  in  England. 

I  have  nearly  finished  Kinglake's  "  Eothen."  The  first 
chapter  is  very  interesting  at  the  moment — his  journey 
from  Semlin  by  Belgrade  and  Sofia  to  Constantinople  ; 
it  shows  how  seventy  years  ago  people  simply  were  not 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,   1915  253 

aware  of  the  existence  of  these  latent  nationalities  in  Euro- 
pean Turkey.  What  an  extraordinary  thing  their  emer- 
gence is,  as  an  historical  phenomenon  !  Here  almost  more 
than  anywhere  else  we  can  see  right  and  wrong,  unqualified 
and  naked,  ranged  respectively  on  the  English  and  German 
sides,  for  Germany  does  stand  for  obliterating  that  phase 
of  history.  I  could  dream  of  many  worse  things  for  the 
world's  future  than  a  single  federal  State  stretching  from 
Antwerp  to  Bagdad,  uniting  in  peace  the  civilizations  of 
the  East  and  the  West  even  more  effectively  perhaps  than 
the  British  Empire  can  ;  but  one  knows  that  German 
dominion  means  an  exacerbation  of  racial  hatreds,  that 
they  simply  cannot  rise  to  what  that  commonplace  English 
politician  Campbell-Bannerman  achieved  for  South  Africa. 

I  am  separated  from  my  battalion  now,  and  even  when 
I  am  in  it  the  death  and  departure  of  the  great  majority 
of  the  men  with  whom  I  did  my  first  year's  soldiering 
prevents  it  from  being  the  same  corporate  body  which  it 
once  was  for  me.  It  seems  no  more  than  a  mere  neces- 
sary trough  for  shovelling  us  poor  human  units  into  the 
war  machine  ;  and  as  the  idea  of  it  has  receded  into  the 
background,  as  a  source  of  vision  for  making  this  life  worth 
living,  and  this  work  worth  doing,  the  idea  of  England 
as  a  whole  takes  its  place.  Religion  I  have  none  ;  it  seems 
no  good  in  this  hell.  Vision  a  man  needs,  but  not  shadowy 
wraiths  ;  his  gods  must  be  like  the  old  pagan  gods  that 
spring  from  the  realities  of  the  human  heart  upon  the  earth. 
Honour,  patriotism,  and  comradeship  are  one's  best  stays. 
Patriotism  we  English  have,  but  I  think  a  far  less  culti- 
vated patriotism  than  men  of  some  other  races.  God  forbid 
that  we  should  cultivate  it  like  the  Germans  !  But  a 
man  can  gain  strength  from  refining  and  winnowing  and 
treasuring  his  views  of  what  he  means  by  his  country, 
just  as  men  have  undoubtedly  gained  strength  by  com- 
muning with  what  they  call  their  God. 

The  bombardment  is  heavy.  I  can  picture  the  scenes 
in  the  trenches,  too  awful  to  contemplate.  I  am  truly  as 
sorry  for  the  German  poor  devils  as  for  English  infantrymen. 
No  man  can  hate  his  enemy  while  he  is  being  bombarded 
in  the  trenches ;  even  the  apostles  of  hate  who  are  there 


254  KEELING  LETTERS 

leave  that  to  Fleet  Street  for  the  time  being,  and  if  I  have 
to  practise  my  ghoulish  art  of  bombing  in  an  actual  battle, 
I  shall  do  my  best  to  kill,  that  I  know  from  experience,  but 
it  will  be  entirely  without  malice.  That  is  the  tragedy  and 
comedy  of  it  all. 

Well,  good  luck  to  the  Serbs,  and  good-night. 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     18  November,  1915. 

Well,  I  expect  I  shall  be  going  up  to  the  trenches  again 
at  last ;  it  is  still  unsettled,  but  our  Division  is  now  reliev- 
ing another,  and  I  think  our  Brigade  bomb  school  will 
probably  be  broken  up.  I  am  quite  ready  when  they 
want  me.  I  think  I  can  stand  cold  and  wet  as  well  as 
most,  and  I  ought  to  be  able  to  stand  shells  as  well  as  most, 
too.  I  could  probably  have  got  leave  before  now,  but 
have  not  liked  to  push  for  getting  it  before  others  in  my 
regiment  who  were  going  into  the  trenches.  The  scramble 
for  leave  vacancies  is  rather  wretched.  It  is  every  man 
for  himself  in  most  things  out  here  when  mutual  aid  is 
not  an  urgent  practical  necessity,  and  leave  from  the 
trenches  will  be  worth  a  great  deal  more  than  leave  from 
this  place,  where  I  am  really  quite  comfortable.  I  shall  be 
very  much  interested  in  Bennett's  new  story.  Will  you 
also  please  send  me  the  Contemporary  every  month  ? 

What  are  we  now  fighting  for  ?  I  prophesy  that  in 
a  very  short  time  the  issues  will  begin  to  get  narrowed 
down.  We  shall  begin  to  see  clearly  that  certain  things, 
such  as  the  utter  humiliation  of  Germany,  thank  goodness, 
are  out  of  the  question.  I  can't  see  why  we  should  want 
to  shut  Germany  out  of  the  East  altogether,  provided  that 
we  secure  our  through  route  to  India.  I  think  a  fair 
criterion  is  that  we  must  find  outlets  for  German  expan- 
sion which  will  avoid  the  danger  as  far  as  possible  of 
Germany  clashing  with  us.  Thus  Belgium  must  remain 
outside  her  sphere  of  influence,  and  German  South-West 
Africa  must  be  left  in  our  hands.  But  I  can't  see  why 
Turkey  should  not  become  a  German  Egypt,  provided 
that  the  Balkan  States  are  left  genuinely  free  ;  and  why 
particularly  should  Russia  be  re-established  in  Poland, 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,   1915  255 

unless  she  is  going  to  give  Poland  real  freedom,  excluding 
preferably  freedom  to  bully  Jews  and  Ruthenes  ?  I  sup- 
pose Germany  will  have  to  be  kept  out  of  the  Pacific, 
but  I  don't  see  why  she  should  be  kept  out  of  East  and 
West  Africa ;  but  I  have  no  hopes  of  or  seriously  a  desire 
for  an  early  peace.  We  must  do  something  decisive  first 
and  also  get  some  definite  issue  out  of  the  Balkan  fighting. 
I  am  all  against  anything  like  a  premature  peace.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  Northcliffe  proves  to  be  the 
traitor  in  that  direction  in  the  end.  I  don't  think  there 
is  much  to  be  said  for  Ic  bon  Dicu  after  all  this.  I 
should  think  humanism  will  gain  considerably  over  theism 
after  the  war.  I  don't  think  we  English  will  give  way 
to  sentimental  revivals,  as  the  French  are  alleged  to  do. 
It  is  not  uncommon  for  officers  to  keep  up  their  courage  on 
whisky  in  the  trenches  out  here.  I  should  regard  a  draught 
of  supernatural  religion  as  an  aid  to  courage  in  much  the 
same  way  as  I  regard  the  whisky-bottle  in  the  trenches. 
I  haven't  much  natural  courage — I  did  not  enjoy  the  bomb- 
ing from  German  aeroplanes  which  we  got  in  this  neigh- 
bourhood this  morning — but  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  push 
through,  keeping  up  appearances  tolerably,  without  recourse 
to  either  physical  or  mental  drugs.  One  must  just  try 
to  set  one's  teeth  and  think  of  the  credit  of  one's  better 
self  and  one's  country. 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     i  December,   1915. 

Thanks  very  much  for  Punch  and  the  Cambridge  Magazine  ; 
the  latter  appears  to  let  as  much  pacifism  of  a  rather  bad 
kind  come  to  the  surface  as  it  dare.  I  don't  think  it  is 
a  journal  to  be  encouraged  on  the  whole.  Surreptitious 
pacifism  seems  to  be  its  main  note.  I  would  not  suppress 
that  kind  of  thing  by  censorship  at  all ;  but  when  you  still 
feel,  as  I  do,  that  you  would  willingly  volunteer  over  again 
for  the  Front,  even  knowing  all  you  do,  for  the  sake  of  help- 
ing to  win  this  war,  you  cannot  exactly  love  people  who 
are  trying  to  weaken  England's  resolution.  I  am  sorry 
that  Jane  Addam  is  on  the  wrong  track.  I  have  always 
admired  her.  It  is  all  rot  to  say  we  don't  know  what 


256  KEELING  LETTERS 

we  are  fighting  for.  We  do.  Germany  set  the  pace  in 
militarism,  though  Jingoes  in  other  countries  must  bear 
part  of  the  blame  ;  and  we  are  fighting  to  show  that 
not  the  most  perfect  military  machine  and  most  perfectly 
militarized  nation  is  invincible.  Of  course,  no  one  but 
drivelling  bishops  and  stupid  professional  soldiers  imagines 
that  it  is  a  case  of  black  versus  white,  an  absolutely  holy 
war.  We  are  out  for  our  own  hand,  too — have  to  be  ;  but 
it  is  all  rot  for  pacifists  to  say  that  we  don't  know  what 
we  are  out  for.  We  must  definitely  prevent  German 
militarism  from  in  any  sense  being  triumphant.  To  achieve 
that  is  to  defeat  it,  and  that  will  take  a  lot  of  doing  yet. 
I  am  against  conscription,  and  all  for  allowing  freedom  of 
speech  to  these  Union  of  Democratic  Control  and  Socialist 
pacifists.  I  confess  that  I  am  bitter  against  them,  when 
I  think  of  good  men  that  I  have  fought  with  dying,  and 
these  people  stopping  to  whine  at  home,  and  I  don't  want 

to  have  anything  to  do  with .     His  attitude  simply 

makes  me  sick.  He  complains  that  I  am  intolerant 
towards  his  opinions  ;  but  I  do  tolerate  them  and  I  don't 
want  the  State  to  suppress  them  ;  only  it  is  too  much  to  ask 
me,  as  he  does  in  effect,  to  feel  amiably  towards  a  man 
who  definitely  disclaims  his  country  and  coolly  sits  and 
enjoys  his  income  and  security  under  the  protection  of 
its  civil  and  military  armed  forces.  And  to  think  that 
he  should  live  in  safety  while  Rupert  Brooke  and  scores 
of  good  men  that  I  know  go  down  before  the  dice  of  war  ! 
Besides,  my  own  turn  may  come  next,  and  I  am  damned  if 
I  am  anxious  to  die. 

Look  here — I  want  something  badly.  I  have  just,  after 
some  weeks'  waiting,  got  one  short  novel,  "  De  Werk- 
man,"  of  Stijn  Struvels,  the  Flemish  novelist.  I  want 
half  a  dozen  of  any  others  of  his  works.  They  can 
be  got  at  Amsterdam ;  several  of  them  are  published 
pretty  cheaply.  Can  you  write  to  the  Dutch  lady, 
whom  I  am  dying  to  meet  from  your  account  of  her,  and 
get  these  sent  over  ?  Also  anything  else  in  the  way  of 
Flemish  and  Dutch  literature  she  would  think  likely  to 
interest  an  intelligent  Englishman  who  has  just  reached 
the  stage  of  having  swallowed  all  formulas,  and  is 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,   1915  257 

passing  from  Sturm  und  Drang  into  relatively  discreet 
middle  age. 

Well,  1  think  poor  old  Fritz  is  really  beginning  to  feel 
the  pinch  now  more  than  we  are.  I  shall  go  back  to  the 
discomforts  of  the  trenches  with  a  good  heart.  I  believe 
skilful  financial  direction  is  more  needed  than  military 
effort  in  England  now. 

Please  get  me  the  books  very  soon.  I  can  read  one 
novel  of  Struvels'  in  a  day.  I  may  as  well  make  a  fairly 
good  job  of  Flemish  now  that  I  have  got  so  far. 

To  R.  C.  K.  Ensor. 

6TH  D.C.L.I.,  B.E.F. 

23  December,  1915. 

.  .  .  Since  last  Friday  I  have  been  back  in  my  battalion 
after  three  days  in  the  field  ambulance  camp  as  a  result 
of  a  slight  attack  of  "  flu."  The  specialized  bomb-throwers 
(apart  from  ordinary  riflemen  trained  as  bomb-throwers) 
are  now  so  numerous  in  my  battalion  that  we  have  made 
them  into  a  "  grenadier  company  "  140  strong,  and  I  have 
the  rank  of  company  sergeant-major,  as  their  senior  N.C.O. 
I  was,  in  fact,  anyhow  very  nearly,  though  not  quite,  the 
senior  sergeant  in  the  battalion — so  many  of  the  old  hands 
had  gone  under.  I  feel  I  am  doing  all  that  I  should  be 
doing  as  an  officer — unless  I  happened  to  be  in  the  ex- 
ceptional position  of  adjutant — in  an  ordinary  infantry 
battalion,  and  don't  feel  inclined  to  break  the  many 
ties  by  which  I  am  bound  for  better  or  worse  to  my  bat- 
talion. People  at  home  who  talk  glibly  about  one's  "  taking 
a  commission "  don't  seem  to  realize  anything  about  the 
hundred  ties  and  associations  which  bind  a  man  to  his 
unit  in  any  soldiering  worthy  of  the  name.  It  is  a  strange 
thing,  but  I  feel  that  much  of  such  pluck  and  fighting 
spirit  as  I  possess  doesn't  come  from  my  own  self  only — 
it  is  born  of  the  ties  which  I  have  with  ^jores  of  individuals 
with  whom  my  soldiering  is  associated.  When  you  come 
back  to  a  battalion  after  an  absence  you  feel  this  very 
strongly.  It  is  only  as  you  pick  up  the  ties  again  that 
you  feel  yourself  getting  the  better  of  the  shivers  which 
the  horrible  "  wuff  "  and  thump  of  the  guns  send  down  you. 

18 


258  KEELING  LETTERS 

By  Christ !  there  was  hell  let  loose  last  Sunday  morning 
over  that  gas  business,  and  I  lit  my  candle  expecting  the 
order  to  stand-to  just  as  we  got  it  before  we  went  up  to 
Hooge  on  3oth  July  :  in  fact,  it  seemed  like  the  Hooge 
morning  over  again.  However,  we  did  not  have  to  stand- 
to  till  breakfast-time,  and  we  did  not  move  off,  but 
stood  down  again  at  tea-time.  For  which  relief,  much 
thanks ! 

My  battalion  had  been  at  rest  since  I  rejoined  them, 
and  unless  Fritz  lets  hell  loose  by  way  of  celebrating 
Christmas  Day  and  something  very  big  happens,  we  shall 
probably  not  go  up  to  the  trenches  again  in  this  cursed 
area  where  we  have  shed  our  blood  for  eight  damned 
months. 

Well,  do  you  honestly  think  there  is  a  chance  that  I 
shall  be  able  to  celebrate  next  Christmas  in  peace  and 
safety  ?  It  is  pathetic  to  find  how  many  of  the  Tommies 
are  always  believing  that  peace  is  coming  before  some 
date  a  month  or  two  hence.  One  can  see  vividly  how 
religions  are  born  and  grow — the  human  craving  for  a 
comforting  doctrine  is  very  strong. 

We  are  in  a  camp  of  tents  with  a  very  few  mud  huts. 
By  the  way,  the  Chronicle  published  some  time  ago  some 
rot  from  some  blithering  correspondent  who,  I  suppose, 
drives  about  comfortably  in  G.H.O.  motor-cars  and  thinks 
it  a  wonderful  thing  to  come  under  shell  fire,  to  the  effect 
that  all  the  troops  are  comfortably  housed  for  the  winter 
in  nice  warm  huts.  That  sort  of  thing  makes  men  swear 
out  here.  I  don't  grumble  at  a  tent  with  a  coke  fire 
(when  coke  is  available)  even  in  the  coldest  weather  ;  but 
it  is  a  bloody  shame  to  deceive  the  public  at  home  and 
say  we  are  in  comfortable  huts  when  we  aren't.  Till 
the  autumn  we  hadn't  even  got  tents,  but  generally  just 
our  waterproof  sheets  as  roofs  for  bivvy  shelters.  It 
is  rather  like  these  blessed  deputations  who  are  taken 
into  the  trenches  in  some  convalescent  home  where  they 
fire  about  one  shell  and  two  rifle  shots  a  day,  and  who 
spread  the  impression  that  time  hangs  on  our  hands  in 
the  trenches.  In  our  brigade  a  man  is  damned  lucky  if 
he  gets  a  dozen  hours'  sleep  in  three  days  in  the  trenches 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,  1915  259 

—it's  working  and  carrying  parties  whenever  it  isn't  sentry 
and  listening  post,  and  trench  mortars  and  whizz-bangs  on 
and  off  all  day  and  night  in  the  intervals  of  bombardments 
by  crumps.  I  don't  pretend  to  have  been  through  any- 
thing like  as  much  as  men  who  have  been  out  here  eight 
months  and  never  missed  the  trenches,  but  I  have  been 
through  enough  to  know  what  they  have  been  through. 
And  then  people  think  it  is  mud  and  wet  we  mind  ;  that 
is  nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  compared  with  the  nerve- 
racking  hell  of  bombardment.  Of  course,  people  at 
home  can  imagine  that  more  easily  than  the  bombard- 
ments, so  that  is  what  they  talk  about.  I  can't  think  that 
human  nature  ever  had  to  stand  in  any  kind  of  warfare 
in  history  what  the  modern  infantryman  has  to  stand. 
The  strange  thing  in  a  way  is  that  there  doesn't  seem  to 
be  any  limit  to  what  you  can  make  human  nature  stand. 
But  I  do  think  that  after  the  war  there  will  be  a  wave  of 
practical  pacifism  from  the  ex-infantrymen  of  Western 
Europe  that  will  sweep  many  barriers  to  progress  away. 
I  will  go  on  fighting  as  long  as  is  necessary  to  get  a  decision 
in  this  war  and  show  that  prepared  militarism  cannot 
dominate  the  world — whatever  hell  may  be  in  store  for 
me.  But  I  will  not  hate  Germans  to  the  order  of  any 
bloody  politician,  and  the  first  thing  I  shall  do  after  I  am 
free  will  be  to  go  to  Germany  and  create  all  the  ties  I  can 
with  German  life.  It  is  the  soldiers  who  will  be  the  good 
Pacifists — just  as  every  decent  Pacifist  should  be  a  soldier 
now,  whether  he  is  a  German  or  an  Englishman.  I  dis- 
like Liebknecht  almost  as  much  as  I  do  the  Union  of 
Democratic  Control. 

What  a  miserable  business  the  Cavell  agitation  was  ! 
I  believe  a  large  proportion  of  the  men  out  here  who  think 
at  all  share  my  sentiments  about  it.  I  have  no  sympathy 
with  people  who  want  to  execrate  the  whole  German  nation 
as  much  as  possible.  It  doesn't  help  to  win  the  war. 
Women  seem  to  be  particularly  bad  in  this  way.  I  met 
a  lady — a  \vard-maid  in  the  hospital  where  I  was  after 
Hooge — whose  catlike  ferocity  of  sentiments  about  Ger- 
mans and  Germany  simply  made  me  sick.  A  dose  of 
shelling  would  cure  a  lot  of  that  in  any  one.  When  you 
are  lying  at  rest  and  hear  a  bombardment  going  on,  you 


260  KEELING  LETTERS 

can't  help  thinking  of  the  poor  devils  of  infantry  in  the 
trenches  on  both  sides  with  sympathy.  You  are  none 
the  worse  soldier  or  fighter  for  that. 

To  the  Rev.  William  Danks,  Canon  of  Canterbury. 

31  December,  1915. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  your  letter  and  the  Round 
Table.  I  sent  you  in  return  the  last  issue  of  our  Regimental 
Magazine,  which  I  more  or  less  edit.  I  am  going  up  to 
the  trenches  again  to-morrow  for  the  first  time  since  July. 
I  am  moving  in  an  hour  from  a  dugout  in  the  nearest 
reserve  to  immediate  reserve,  and  then  go  to  the  fire-trench 
to-morrow  night,  I  expect. 

Well,  I  hope  you  aren't  one  of  these  ecclesiastical  German- 
haters — I  am  sure  you  aren't.  Few  Englishmen  out 
here  hate  their  enemies — I  feel  as  sorry  for  the  Germans  as 
for  our  own  men  in  the  bombardments,  and  am  none  the 
worse  soldier  for  that.  The  Scotch  and  Irish  are,  I  think, 
more  ferocious.  The  "  Holy  War  "  idea  is  Christian  cant 
of  the  worst  kind.  It  is  all  rot  to  suppose  that  we  are 
white  and  the  Germans  black.  Don't  think  I  am  a  half- 
hearted fighter.  I  am  not.  But  I  loathe  this  orgy  of 
hatred.  The  idea  of  a  sort  of  permanent  trade  war  after 
the  end  of  the  military  war  is  huckstering  beastliness. 

After  all,  every  German  soldier  who  has  been  to  the  Front 
has  done  penance  a  hundred  times  over  for  his  individual 
share  of  the  sins  of  his  country,  bar  the  insignificant 
minority  who  really  have  had  a  hand  in  atrocities.  When 
we  do  get  peace,  for  God's  sake  let  it  be  a  real  peace. 

The  article  in  the  Round  Table  was  right — humanity 
first.  Christianity,  of  course,  never  really  has  emerged 
from  the  tribal  god  stage,  and  never  will.  The  spectacle 
of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  the  leading  German 
ecclesiastic  each  calling  on  their  blessed  "  Gods  "  is  amusing 
to  anti-clericals  like  myself.  Not  but  what  I  admit  there 
are  individual  men  out  here  whose  religion  does  help  them 
to  act  more  nobly.  You  come  across  them  here  and  there, 
and  a  sceptic  who  denies  the  fact  is  no  true  sceptic. 

Well,  let's  hope  to  goodness  that  there  will  be  "  peace 


APRIL  TO  DECEMBER,  1915  261 

on  earth  and  goodwill  towards  men  "  next  New  Year's 
Eve.  If  men  will  really  act  up  to  that,  even  I  will  not 
boggle  at  their  theology,  provided  we  can  keep  you  black- 
coated  gentlemen  out  of  politics. 

Well,  I  am  off  to  march  up  to  the  reserve  dugouts  in 
the  dark  alone,  except  with  my  orderly.  I  shall  think  of 
you  on  the  way.  I  wish  you  all  good  luck  for  the  New 
Year,  and  I  hope  we  may  meet  again  before  1916  is  over  '  ; 
if  not,  at  any  rate  as  soon  as  may  be.  Thank  you  ever 
so  much  for  writing.  Send  me  a  line  about  anything 
when  you  can  find  time. 

'  Canon  Danks  died  in  March,  1916,  and  F.  H.  K.  in  August. 


CHAPTER  X 
JANUARY    i   TO    MAY  4,  1916 

To  Mrs.  Green. 

B.E.F.     6  January,   1916. 

WE  came  out  safely  from  the  trenches  last  night.  It  was 
simply  awful  beyond  words.  I  would  rather  not  try  to 
describe  it.  Not  so  bad  from  the  point  of  view  of  danger 
— only  two  killed  and  four  wounded  in  six  days — but 
mud  and  water  up  to  your  waist,  unholy  smells,  churned- 
up  graves,  cold,  and  utter  discomfort.  This  is  in  the  front 
line.  Not  so  bad  in  supports,  and  in  fact  very  good  in 
reserve.  I  did  forty-eight  hours  in  the  front  line  at  an 
isolated  post  where  you  could  not  sit,  stand,  or  lie  at  full 
length,  and  dared  not  show  yourself  by  day.  No  fires  or 
light  at  any  time.  You  could  only  get  along  the  trench  at 
night  by  walking  between  ours  and  the  German  lines,  and 
the  mud  was  so  bad  that  it  took  an  hour  and  a  half  to 
carry  rations  from  trench  headquarters  to  our  flank.  It 
was  where  the  gas  attack  was  pretty  bad  last  month. 

I  read  Bryce's  article  in  the  Hibbert  in  a  peaceful  moment 
in  the  front  line.  It  was  great,  and  I  felt  much  moved 
by  it.  Then  heavy  shells  started  dropping  just  behind 
our  line,  between  us  and  supports,  shaking  our  frail  shelter 
and  in  fact  the  whole  trench.  But  enough  of  it.  I  will 
admit  I  have  felt  utterly  sick  of  everything  to-day  ;  it  makes 
ill  life  seem  "  red."  I  was  completely  worn  out  last  night  ; 
and  if  I  went  on  feeling  like  I  did  most  of  to-day  I  would 
welcome  a  sudden  end  to  it  all.  One  gets  so  utterly  fed- 
up  with  the  mud,  monotony,  and  murderousness  of  war. 
But  you  are  wrong  when  you,  like  most  people  at  home, 
think  that  the  mere  dirt,  wet,  and  discomfort  of  the  trenches 
are  the  thing  to  be  feared.  No  one  minds  that  relatively 

262 


JANUARY  1   TO  MAY  4,   1916  263 

to  the  shells  and  trench  mortars  ;  it  is  waiting  for  death  or 
dismemberment  in  bombardments  that  breaks  men  up. 
There  is  nothing  in  getting  wet  and  cold  as  compared 
with  this,  but  of  course  one  can  stick  it  all  as  long  as  is 
necessary,  and  I  have  quite  cheered  myself  up  to-night. 

I  have  been  reading  Gogol.  It  is  good  stuff,  but  does 
not  exactly  help  one  to  feel  more  convinced  that  all  this  is 
worth  enduring.  Well,  it  must  all  end  somehow,  some  day. 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     16  January,  1916. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  the  two  letters.  I  did  six 
days  in  the  firing-line  and  supports  there  from  Saturday 
night  to  Friday  night.  There  was  heavy  shelling  in  the 
daytime  on  Sunday  and  Monday,  nearly  all  day  on  Tuesday, 
and  sometimes  on  Wednesday.  My  duties  make  it  practi- 
cally impossible  for  me  to  get  any  sleep  at  night.  I  am 
prowling  about  between  the  English  and  German  lines, 
visiting  my  advanced  bombing  posts,  seeing  to  construction 
of  bomb  stores,  dugouts,  etc.,  making  sure  that  my  men 
get  their  rations  and  rum,  and  conferring  with  officers  nearly 
all  night.  Then  if  they  shell  in  the  daytime  it  is  practically 
impossible  to  sleep.  They  don't  shell  near  the  front  lines 
at  night  just  now.  If  one  side  did,  the  other  side  would  too, 
and  neither  side  would  be  able  to  get  their  rations  up  and 
life  would  be  practically  impossible.  Mud  and  water  not 
so  bad  in  these  trenches  as  in  the  last,  but  the  work  of  my 
men  in  the  advanced  bomb  posts  is  very  dangerous  and 
nerve-racking.  They  are  quite  isolated  by  day  and  simply 
have  to  lie  in  the  mud  ;  if  they  were  to  get  hit  with  a 
"  crump  "  or  trench  mortar,  they  would  simply  be  done. 
I  got  a  telephone  fixed  up  to  one  of  the  posts — the  most 
dangerous  one.  Some  of  us  have  got  a  scheme  for  a  bit 
of  a  show  next  time  in — a  rifle  and  bombing  attack  on  some 
German  listening  posts  ;  it  may  not  come  to  anything,  but 
I  have  a  lot  of  fellows  who  would  volunteer  to  come  and  have 
a  bit  of  a  smack  at  them  with  me.  The  company  on  our 
right  wounded  and  captured  a  German — a  fine  big  fellow  ; 
it  appears  to  be  true  that  the  bullets  in  his  cartridges  were 
reversed,  i.e.  would  inflict  horrible  wounds — in  effect  were 


264  KEELING  LETTERS 

"  Dum-dums."  He  was  shot  with  his  own  rifle  after  a  scuffle 
and  got  a  very  bad  wound — was  not  expected  to  live,  but 
I  believe  is  in  fact  going  on  well.  I  am  very  sorry  about 
the  reversed  bullets ;  I  prefer  to  believe  the  best  rather  than 
the  worst  about  the  enemy.  I  do  not  care  for  the  poem 
you  sent  me,  because  in  the  bitterness  of  things  out  here 
I  have  no  use  for  "  God  "  or  for  the  sentiment  that  we  in 
our  holy  righteousness  are  fighting  a  nation  of  brutes.  I 
respect  the  Germans  as  soldiers,  I  sympathize  with  the  poor 
devil  of  the  German  infantryman  who  goes  through  the 
same  hell  as  I  do  in  a  bombardment,  and  I  see  the  German 
point  of  view  about  the  Lusilania,  the  Cavell  business, 
and  other  matters  too  clearly  to  feel  any  sympathy  for  the 
yap,  yap,  yap  of  the  Press  about  these  things.  I  am  out 
to  do  my  bit  towards  inflicting  as  much  as  possible  of  a 
military  defeat  on  the  Germans.  I  am  not  interested  in 
exaggerating  their  infamy.  If  it  were  a  question  of  being 
deceived  into  believing  them  either  better  or  worse  than 
they  are,  I  would  choose  the  former  alternative.  Why  ? 
Because  no  conceivable  good  can  be  done  to  mankind  at 
large  by  exaggerating  the  infamy  of  any  nation.  And 
speaking  as  a  man  face  to  face  with  the  chances  of  death, 
I  can  honestly  say  that  humanity  and  England's  contribu- 
tion to  the  Temple  of  Humanity  are  the  only  ideal  con- 
ceptions for  which  I  have  any  use. 

At  nights,  where  we  are  now  and  as  things  are,  it  is  only 
bullets  from  fixed  rifles  and  machine-guns  along  roads 
and  between  lines  that  we  have  to  fear.  The  whizz  of  the 
bullets  has  little  terror  for  me — one  often  gets  them  pretty 
close  when  knocking  round.  I  think  the  psychology  of 
fear  is  largely  based  on  one's  own  experience — shells  take 
the  guts  out  of  me  altogether.  The  impression  of  the  wound 
and  shock  I  got  in  July  is  too  vividly  impressed  upon  the 
conscious  and  sub-conscious  parts  of  my  mind.  Other 
men  tell  me  that  the  whizz  of  bullets  near  by  upsets  them, 
but  I  think  on  the  whole  that  shells  are  the  things  that 
most  men  fear.  I  am  really  much,  more  cheerful  and  happy 
this  time  out  than  after  the  previous  lot  of  trenches.  My 
moral  is  better.  I  could  go  up  to  an  attack  pretty  coolly, 
which  I  could  not  have  done  last  time  out.  We  expect 
to  be  in  and  out  of  the  trenches  in  this  sector  till  about  the 


JANUARY  1  TO  MAY  4,  1916  265 

end  of  February,  when  we  may  be  held  to  have  earned  three 
weeks'  or  so  "  rest  "  out  of  the  trenches.  We  were  lucky 
to  get  off  with  only  five  wounded  and  none  killed  last  time 
in.  Thursday  was  a  bright,  nice  day  and  there  was  a  relief 
from  the  shelling  of  the  four  previous  days.  It  cheered 
every  one  up.  I  said  "  Go  hang  "  to  sleep  and  played  whist 
all  the  morning  in  my  dugout.  The  first  time  I  have  played 
cards  for  many  years — I  enjoyed  the  distraction  immensely. 
Last  time  out  I  was  so  fed-up  with  three  days  of  life  in  mud 
up  to  my  thighs,  and  the  prospect  of  several  more  days  of 
it,  that  for  the  first  time  in  my  Army  career  I  "  damned  the 
consequences  "  of  breaking  rules  and  outstayed  my  pass 
into  the  town,  over  a  cheerful  supper  party  up  till  ten  o'clock. 
You  are  supposed  to  be  clear  of  the  town  after  8.30.  I 
and  the  N.C.O.'s  with  me  had  the  bad  luck  to  be  caught 
by  the  Town  Major,  so  yesterday,  to  the  great  amusement 
of  the  regiment,  I  was  up  before  the  Colonel  with  my  hat 
off  and  got  a  "  rep."  I  don't  care  a  damn,  the  pleasure 
made  it  worth  while.  I  got  a  pass  in  again  last  night  and 
went  to  the  Pictures,  and  had  a  good  feed  and  a  bottle  of 
wine  with  my  friends,  but  got  back  just — only  just — in 
time.  You  must  do  something  to  make  life  livable  here 
— there  is  nowhere  to  go  in  this  camp  and  the  sole  source  of 
cheerfulness  is  a  coke  fire  in  one's  tent — if  one  can  make 
the  stuff  burn.  Why  don't  these  Y.M.C.A.  huts  come  up 
here,  where  we  could  do  with  them,  instead  of  catering  for 
troops  in  safety  at  the  Base  and  those  A.S.C.  and  R.A.M.C. 
people  in  safe  jobs  ? 

I  have  taken  a  stray  black  cat  into  my  tent ;  she  is  lying 
by  the  coke  fire  and  miaouing  in  her  sleep.  It  is  strange 
what  a  lot  of  men  talk  in  their  sleep  out  here.  I  suppose 
all  our  nerves  are  on  edge  really.  I  was  tired  when  I  got 
on  to  the  bus  three  or  four  miles  from  the  firing-line  on 
Friday  night,  but  I  feel  quite  fresh  again  to-night,  and 
have  been  to  the  barber's  to-day  with  my  company.  It 
makes  us  out  here  smile  to  read  the  official  communiques, 
"  only  normal  artillery  activity."  People  in  Blighty  think, 
I  suppose,  that  that  means  nothing  doing  for  the  infantry. 
If  only  they  realized  ! 

Very  late — lights  out  long  ago. 


266  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     5  February,  1916. 

At  last  I  have  a  chance  of  writing  to  you.  The  battalion 
is  in  the  trenches,  but  I  did  not  go  with  them  on  Tuesday 
night,  as  I  was  summoned  to  G.H.Q.  without  any  explanation 
whatever.  I  was  there  for  three  days,  returning  this  morn- 
ing to  our  transport  camp.  I  lived  in  luxury  at  an  hotel, 
but  had  a  good  deal  of  work  to  do,  the  nature  of  which  I 
must  not  divulge.  I  shall  very  likely  have  to  go  back  there 
for  a  couple  of  days  next  week  on  the  same  job,  which 
will  then  be  finished  as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  It  was  an 
extraordinary  pleasant  change  to  get  as  far  away  from 
the  war  as  G.H.Q.  is,  and  to  live  in  a  really  civilized  way 
in  a  pleasant  little  French  town.  Incidentally  I  saw  Tawney 
there,  and  he  asked  after  you.  He  is  going  on  leave  next 
week  in  all  probability.  I  wish  I  were.  I  can  go  when 
I  like,  but  I  decline  to  take  preference  over  the  large  number 
of  privates  in  my  company  who  have  never  missed  trenches 
since  the  battalion  came  out  here.  I  was  too  busy  to  read 
or  think  much  while  at  G.H.Q.  But  it  was  good  to  be  in 
France  among  French  people.  I  feel  that  the  sufferings 
and  trials  of  France  in  this  war  are  almost  immeasurable, 
and  I  certainly  find  myself  more  and  more  moved  by 
sympathy  with  the  French  people.  The  toll  of  their  dead 
is  simply  appalling. 

I  am  busy  writing  stuff  for  the  Red  Feather. 

I  don't  see  why  we  should  feel  annoyed  with  America. 
My  American  friends  rather  surprise  me  by  their  (as  it 
seems  to  me)  excessive  pro-British  sentiment.  I  don't 
blame  any  neutral  for  keeping  out  of  this  business  as  long 
as  possible.  Of  course  if  you  really  believe  in  the  black 
and  white  or  holy-war  theory,  you  can  call  the  Americans 
cowards  ;  but  like,  I  think,  most  soldiers,  I  don't  believe 
in  that.  Execration  is  a  civilian  trade.  Good-bye. 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     9  February,   1916. 

I  must  lose  no  time  in  telling  you  a  great  story  about 
myself.  My  batman  went  to  an  estaminet  to-night  and 


JANUARY  1   TO  MAY  4,   1916  267 

met  a  lot  of  R.F.A.  men  in  our  Division.  One  of  them  told 
him  that  my  paybook,  which  I  had  lost  a  few  days  ago, 
had  been  found  in  the  road  near  a  place  called  Pushbike 
Farm.  Then  they  got  talking  about  me  and  said  to  my 
batman,  "  What  do  you  call  him  in  your  mob  ?  "  "  Oh, 
I've  'card  'im  called  all  sorts  of  names."  "  Well,  do  you 
know  what  we  calls  'im  ?  "  "  No."  "  Can  you  guess  ?  " 
"  No."  "  Well,  we  calls  'im  Siberian  Joe." 

I  think  I  would  go  through  another  Hooge  and  take 
the  chance  of  pegging  out  in  at  least  six  bombardments 
for  the  sake  of  the  glory  of  going  down  to  history  as 
"  Siberian  Joe." 

THE  BULLY   BEEF  MINE « 
FROM  A  MILITARY  CORRESPONDENT  IN  FRANCE  (F.  H.  K.) 

Every  one  has  heard  of  the  waste  of  bully  beef  at  the 
Front.  But  perhaps  the  following  story  will  help  to  make 
clear  the  causes  of  this  appalling  waste  and  will  also  indicate 
the  nature  and  progress  of  the  efforts  at  reform.  Last 
summer  the  regimental  quartermaster-sergeant  of  a  certain 
battalion  in  Flanders  was  finding,  like  many  of  his  col- 
leagues, that  a  large  proportion  of  the  men  refused  to 
consume  the  tin  of  bully  and  allowance  of  Army  biscuits, 
which  was  then  issued  more  frequently  than  at  present  in 
lieu  of  fresh  meat  and  bread.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  whole 
tin  of  bully  (three-quarters  of  a  pound  in  weight)  is  more 
than  even  a  very  hungry  man  will  generally  require  for  a 
meal.  Moreover,  most  of  the  men  spend  practically  all 
the  five  francs  a  week  which  they  generally  receive  on  account 
of  their  pay  upon  food  and  drink.  So  long  as  they  can  buy 
eggs,  bread,  coffee,  butter,  etc.,  in  the  farmhouses  which 
adjoin  the  rest  camps  or  in  the  villages  and  little  towns  a 
mile  or  two  away,  many  of  them  will  not  touch  what  they 
regard  as  the  less  palatable  items  in  Army  rations.  The 
regimental  quartermaster-sergeant  therefore  found  bully 
and  biscuits  strewn  about  the  camp,  thrown  on  to  the  in- 
cinerator, or  accumulating  in  his  stores.  He  tried  to  induce 

1  From  the  New  Statesman,  26  February,   1916. 


268  KEELING  LETTERS 

the  Army  Service  Corps  to  keep  a  certain  proportion  of 
the  bully  and  biscuits  to  which  the  battalion  was  entitled 
in  their  own  hands.  The  Army  Service  Corps  refused  to  do 
so  unless  the  numbers  entered  on  the  ration  indent  were 
reduced.  That  is  to  say,  supposing  that  the  strength  of  the 
battalion  was  1,000,  the  quartermaster  could,  if  he  chose, 
apply  for  only  850  rations  on  a  given  day.  He  would  then 
only  receive  850  tins  of  bully  instead  of  1,000 ;  but  he  would 
also  have  the  battalion's  rations  of  bacon,  butter,  potatoes 
(if  any),  tea,  and  sugar  all  reduced  proportionately.  Now, 
all  the  other  items  of  Army  food  are  highly  popular  and  are 
rarely  wasted.  The  men  demand  their  full  ration  of  bacon, 
tea,  etc.,  and  grumble  furiously  if  they  do  not  obtain  it.  But 
the  authorities  insisted  on  treating  the"  individual  man's 
daily  ration  allowance  of  so  much  meat,  bread  or  biscuits, 
jam,  butter,  tea,  and  so  on,  as  an  indivisible  whole,  which 
had  to  be  taken  or  left  in  toto. 

The  quartermaster-sergeant  of  the  battalion  in  question 
is  an  exceptionally  able  and  conscientious  man.  Having 
been  beaten  at  one  attempt  to  obviate  waste,  he  resolved 
to  try  another.  There  is  in  all  battalions  at  the  Front  a 
constant  stream  of  men  leaving  and  rejoining  the  unit  for 
innumerable  reasons.  Rations  have  to  be  indented  for  two 
days  ahead,  and  men  are  constantly  arriving  who  find  them- 
selves not  "  in  rations  "  for  the  day.  In  point  of  fact,  they 
can  generally  be  provided  for ;  but  it  would  be  convenient 
in  a  stationary  rest  camp  if  a  reserve  store  of  non-perishable 
rations  could  be  kept  for  emergencies.  The  quartermaster- 
sergeant  therefore  began  to  use  some  of  his  surplus  bully  for 
building  up  such  an  emergency  store.  But  here  again  he 
found  himself  in  trouble.  The  camp  was  visited  by  a 
superior  supply  officer.  He  discovered  the  surplus  store  and 
proceeded  to  "  strafe  "  the  quartermaster  on  the  ground  that 
in  accordance  with  regulations  he  must  indent  for  rations 
corresponding  to  the  exact  number  of  men  on  the  strength 
of  the  battalion,  and  must  issue  every  man  with  his  full 
amount  of  rations. 

The  conscientious  quartermaster-sergeant  gave  it  up.  The 
bully  and  biscuits  continued  to  accumulate.  There  was 
only  one  way  out — a  decent  and  thorough  burial.  A  fatigue 


JANUARY   1   TO  MAY  4,   1916  269 

v, 

party  was  turned  out  and  hundreds  of  tins  of  bully  and 
biscuits  disappeared  in  the  clay  of  Flanders. 

Months  passed  away.  The  battalion  continued  in  the 
weary  routine  of  trench  life  in  the  same  district  throughout 
the  late  summer,  the  autumn,  and  the  winter.  They  were 
quartered  in  one  rest  camp  after  another,  but  often  found 
themselves  hi  a  collection  of  huts  or  tents  which  they  had 
occupied  some  weeks  or  months  before.  The  transport  of 
the  battalion  came  to  be  stationed  permanently  near  the 
spot  which  had  become  the  bully  beef  cemetery.  Mean- 
while the  scandal  of  the  waste  had  begun  to  touch  even 
the  official  conscience.  Some  "  redhat  "  (Staff  officer) 
decided  that  there  was  no  irrefutable  reason  why  the  regula- 
tion soldier's  ration  should  be  treated  as  a  sacred  indivisible 
unity,  to  be  thrown  at  the  individual  man  irrespective  of 
the  manner  in  which  he  would  in  fact  dispose  of  it.  At 
last  it  was  permitted  to  battalion  quartermasters  to  refrain 
from  taking  the  full  issue  of  bully  beef  and  biscuits  to  which 
they  were  entitled.  And  some  one  started  experimenting 
in  the  culinary  possibilities  of  bully.  It  was  found  that 
with  the  addition  of  a  little  flour  and  some  onions  highly 
palatable  rissoles  could  be  made  out  of  the  tinned  meat. 
The  necessary  flour  was  supplied  to  battalions  in  lieu  of 
a  part  of  the  bread  or  biscuits  to  which  they  were  entitled 
on  any  one  day.  The  onions  came  out  of  the  ordinary 
issue  of  vegetables.  The  rissoles  were  eagerly  devoured 
by  the  troops,  and  became  a  highly  popular  dish  both  in 
rest  camps  and  in  the  trenches,  where  they  were  carried 
up  in  boxes  either  to  be  eaten  cold  or  to  be  warmed  up  by 
the  men  themselves  in  their  mess-tins.  It  had  taken  a 
year  and  a  half  of  warfare  to  dissolve  the  theory  of  the  indi- 
visible soldier's  ration  and  to  discover  how  to  make  rissoles 
out  of  bully  beef.  Still,  we  must  remember  that  though 
the  mills  of  God  grind  slowly  they  grind  exceeding  sure. 
And,  after  all,  as  we  say  in  the  trenches  when  the  shells 
are  falling  thickest,  the  first  seven  years  of  the  war  will 
certainly  be  the  worst. 

Then  an  extraordinary  thing  happened.  There  was 
actually  now  and  again  a  shortage  of  bully  in  this  battalion. 
The  best  of  the  company  cooks,  anxious  to  provide  as 


270  KEELING  LETTERS 

adequately  as  possible  for  the  men  in  the  trenches,  used  to 
scour  the  camps  for  bully  to  make  into  rissoles,  ransacking 
the  huts,  the  hedges  and  ditches,  the  vicinity  of  the  incine- 
rator, and  the  latest  refuse  pits.  One  day  a  certain  cook 
actually  could  not  find  enough.  He  was  an  old  hand  and 
bethought  himself  of  yet  another  source  of  supply.  Making 
his  way  to  the  quartermaster's  stores,  he  secured  a  pick 
and  shovel  and  started  excavating  operations  at  a  spot 
where  he  remembered  that  large  quantities  of  bully  had 
been  buried  in  the  previous  summer.  He  was  soon  re- 
warded by  finding  his  pick  go  through  a  thin  sheet  of  metal 
into  something  soft.  He  had  reached  the  upper  limit  of 
the  bully  beef  deposit.  He  soon  exhumed  thirty  or  forty 
rusty  tins  of  bully,  put  them  into  a  sack,  and  made  his  way 
to  the  cookhouse.  His  rissoles  gave  general  satisfaction. 

Obviously  this  sort  of  thing  wants  organizing.  The  ten- 
dency nowadays  is  for  the  brigade  or  division  to  take  over 
specialist  jobs.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  G.H.Q.  will  consider 
the  formation  of  brigade  bully  beef  excavation  detachments 
at  an  early  date.  The  biscuit  question  has  not  yet  been 
solved  quite  so  satisfactorily.  It  is  widely  known  that  Army 
biscuits  form  an  excellent  substitute  for  coke  or  charcoal, 
and  it  is  not  uncommon  nowadays  to  see  a  number  of 
braziers  in  a  camp  glowing  with  the  peculiar  bluish  flame 
which  distinguishes  the  biscuit  fire.  But  some  critics  regard 
this  as  an  extravagant  method  of  preventing  waste.  An 
artillery  major,  commanding  a  battery  about  halfway 
down  the  British  line,  having  failed  to  dispose  of  all  his 
men's  surplus  biscuits  by  free  distribution  to  the  local 
peasantry,  started  mashing  them  up  for  his  horses.  Perhaps 
we  shall  soon  see  transport  sergeants  detailing  fatigue  parties 
to  exhume  tins  of  biscuits  in  order  to  provide  dainty  suppers 
for  their  favourite  mules.  But  the  biscuits  buried  by  the 
infantry  battalion  to  which  I  have  alluded  now  form  the 
main  foundation  of  the  roadway  leading  into  the  camp. 
They  will  therefore  probably  remain  undisturbed,  at  least 
until  the  archaeologists  begin  to  investigate  the  manners  and 
customs  of  the  twentieth-century  English  by  means  of 
excavations  on  the  plains  of  Flanders. 


JANUARY  1   TO  MAY  4,   1916  271 

To  Mrs.  Green. 

B.E.F.     27  February,  1916. 

Have  been  on  trek  over  snow-covered  plateaux  and 
valleys  of  late.  On  Friday  we  had  an  awful  journey  in 
a  snowstorm.  The  wagons  all  had  to  be  man-handled, 
and  we  got  no  rations  or  hot  food  on  Friday  night,  or  on 
Saturday  till  the  afternoon.  We  have  rested  in  one  place 
new  for  two  days,  and  expect  to  be  in  our  new  trenches 
in  a  few  days'  time.  The  billets  are  very  poor.  On  Friday 
night  half  my  company  were  sleeping  without  blankets 
in  an  open  barn  with  no  doors.  However,  we  have  got 
blankets  all  right  now  and  I  am  very  comfortable  personally, 
sleeping  in  an  outhouse  which  is  also  used  as  a  cook-house. 
I  got  the  book  by  Bazin  which  you  sent  just  before  leaving 
the  last  place.  It  only  just  escaped  being  dumped,  but  I 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  perhaps  it  was  the  last  straw 
but  one  on  the  camel's  back.  Have  finished  Anatole 
France's  "  Jocaste "  to-day.  There  is  something  very 
exquisite  about  his  perception  of  things.  It  is  immensely 
interesting  to  be  in  touch  with  the  French. 

I  feel  more  and  more  that  there  is  something  accursed 
in  the  huge  amount  of  money-making  in  connection  with  the 
war  that  is  going  on  in  England  both  as  regards  employers 
and  as  regards  workpeople.  The  nation  ought  to  have  risen 
to  the  level  of  insisting  on  placing  a  lot  more  of  the  war 
industries  on  an  entirely  non-profit  basis.  Broadly  speaking, 
the  English  either  volunteer  for  this  hell  or  else  sit  down 
and  grow  fat  on  big  money  at  home.  The  contrast  between 
the  two  fates  is  too  great.  I  am  looking  forward  very 
much  to  seeing  what  England  is  like  when  I  come  home 
on  leave — when !  The  men  in  the  place  where  I  am 
writing  are  all  talking  about  their  time  on  leave.  Here 
are  some  of  the  remarks :  "Do  yer  know,  the  first 
bloke  I  spoke  to  when  I  got  'ome  to  Brum  was  a 
Belgian.  I  cud  ha  knocked  'im  dahn.  'E  knew  all  the 
places  where  we  'ad  been."  "  I  went  out  in  civics  one 
arternoon  and  felt  bloody-well  ashamed  of  myself."  "  Do 
yer  know,  the  funniest  thing  was  when  my  sister  told 
me  she  was  workin'  nights.  I  could  na  ha  believed  my 
sister  was  workin'  nights.  It's  a  rum  thing  when  you 


272  KEELING  LETTERS 

ha  to  go  down  to  the  firm  to  get  your  sister  off 
for  a  night.  I  don't  like  women  workin'  nights."  "  My 
brother's  gettin'  four  or  five  pund  a  week  and  my  sister's 
gettin'  thirty  bob."  "  The  gaffers  won't  loose  a  lot  of  the 
blokes  for  the  Army.  We  say,  Why  don't  they  join  the 
Army  ?  but  the  gaffers  won't  loose  'em."  "  Aye,  but  I 
think  they  ought  ter  let  some  of  those  as  'as  been  up  the 
line  all  the  time  go  'ome  to  work  munitions.  Let  some 
of  'em  Durby  blokes  come  art  'ere." 

We  are  moving  off  to-morrow  morning  from  here. 

Good-bye.  1  suppose  I  shall  see  good  old  Blighty  again 
some  day. 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     7  March,  1916. 

I  am  still  in  the  support  line,  but  have  been  laid  up  for 
two  days  with  "  flu."  I  felt  rotten  yesterday,  too  ill  to  read 
or  smoke,  or  even  read  or  write.  When  the  medical  corporal 
came  round  he  found  my  temperature  was  103°,  but  he 
gave  me  some  aspirin  and  it  brought  my  temperature 
down  marvellously  in  the  night.  To-day  I  have  stopped 
in  bed  again  and  have  been  very  comfortable.  There  was 
a  friendly  rat  who  was  sharing  the  straw  of  my  bed  with 
me,  but  my  batman  drove  him  out  remorselessly  this 
afternoon,  and  just  caught  his  tail  with  a  spade  as  he  fled 
through  a  hole  at  the  side  of  the  door. 

We  had  rather  bad  luck  here  the  other  day  and  lost 
three  killed  and  two  wounded  by  a  shell ;  there  have  been 
a  good  many  shells  screaming  overhead  to-day,  and  just 
as  I  have  been  writing  this  page  our  battery  a  few  hundred 
yards  behind  here  have  been  sending  over  a  dose.  I  shall 
be  all  right  again  very  soon.  I  don't  want  to  be  evacuated 
just  now,  as  I  am  waiting  for  my  promotion  to  warrant 
officer  rank.  This  practically  doubles  my  pay  without 
increasing  my  expenses  and  is  also  a  status  worth  acquiring. 

I  have  finished  Anatole  France's  "  Le  Chat  maigre,"  and 
am  now  reading  Bazin's  "  De  Toute  son  Ame."  I  have 
also  raided  a  good  deal  of  official  Local  Government  and 
theological  books  from  the  ruins  of  the  Mairie  and  the 
village  cure's  house,  and  find  them  amusing  for  skimming. 


JANUARY  1   TO  MAY  4,   1916  273 

Incidentally  M.  le  Cure  had  an  odd  number  of  the  Revue 
Catholique  et  Royaliste.  Mon  Dieu  !  our  Tories  and  clericals 
would  not  dare  to  whisper  what  their  confreres  blazon 
forth.  They  are  both  equally  wicked,  but  the  French 
are  more  explicit. 

Our  artillery  have  opened  out  again.  You  should  hear 
the  infantry  curse  when  our  artillery  starts.  Our  Army 
swore  terribly  in  Flanders  in  Uncle  Toby's  time,  but  it 
never  swore  worse  than  the  infantry  do  now  at  their  own 
artillery,  and  then  the  British  public  is  fed  with  stories  by 
the  newspaper  correspondents  of  the  noble  British  infantry- 
man thirsting  to  leap  over  the  parapet,  craving  for  a  cease- 
less rain  of  shells  on  the  German  lines,  etc.,  etc.  The  article 
in  the  Nation  of  the  igth  February  on  the  "  Victory  of  Time  " 
was  a  very  good  answer  to  the  anti-Germans.  This  "  war 
on  German  trade  for  ever  "  cry  is  bad  politics  and  bad 
economics  from  the  most  cynical  as  well  as  from  any  decent 
civilized  point  of  view.  As  the  writer  points  out,  the  abuse 
of  Kaiser  Bill  and  Germany  to-day  is  nothing  to  the  abuse 
of  Napoleon  and  the  Huns  to  be  found  in  the  Press  of 
a  hundred  years  ago,  and  yet  we  and  the  French  were  as 
thick  as  thieves  in  no  time.  Of  course  it  is  true  that  we 
did  destroy  the  Napoleonic  tyranny,  but  even  if  by  some 
chance  Napoleon  had  been  left  on  the  throne  of  a  France 
deprived  of  her  foreign  conquests,  much  the  same  thing 
would  in  all  probability  have  happened.  I  have  been  much 
interested  in  the  Local  Government  Official  Annuals  which 
I  found  in  the  Maine;  they  have  Annuaires  Statistiques 
for  the  Department  going  back  to  Napoleonic  times,  be- 
ginning with  very  well  compiled  and  edited  annuals. 
Voila  !  one  of  the  fruits  of  the  work  of  the  Revolution 
and  Napoleon  !  I  should  like  to  write  an  article  about 
these  books,  and  those  I  found  in  the  cure's  house,  if  I 
could  find  time.  Compare  this  well  organized  and  system- 
atized local  government  with  the  chaos  of  the  English 
parish  and  county  in  1800. 

Terrific  bombardment  over  on  the  left.  I  hope  they  are 
not  going  to  start  a  Verdun  here,  but  I  would  go  through 
anything  to  lend  the  French  a  hand.  I  only  wish  we  could 
fight  under  a  French  Staff. 

19 


274  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     22  March,  1916. 

I  have  come  to  the  I4th  Divisional  Rest  Camp.  There  is 
nothing  much  the  matter  with  me,  only  that  I  am  weak 
from  three  successive  attacks  of  the  "  flu  "  in  a  fortnight. 
It  is  pretty  rotten  doing  the  trenches  when  you  are  not 
absolutely  fit.  I  am  sure  shelling  affects  one's  nerves  a 
lot  more  under  these  circumstances.  I  know  I  have  got 
a  good  deal  more  "  nervy  "  lately.  Perhaps  this  is  partly 
due  to  the  shock  of  having  a  man  killed  right  by  me  the 
other  day. 

This  spring  weather  seems  a  mockery  in  the  midst  of 
this  fighting.  The  songs  of  the  birds  simply  make  me  sad. 
The  skylarks  start  every  morning  soon  after  stand-to  in  the 
trenches,  but  one  knows  the  shelling  will  begin  about  nine 
or  ten  o'clock. 

I  have  only  just  got  your  letters  posted  the  week  before 
last.  I  shall  be  interested  to  know  why  you  were  not  sur- 
prised to  hear  of  my  being  nearly  killed  the  other  day.  If 
it  was  a  case  of  telepathy,  I  have  been  always  inclined  to 
believe  in  that.  I  sympathize  entirely  with  what  you  feel 
about  thrift.  The  Government  should  go  in  for  thump- 
ing big  taxes.  At  the  same  time  the  way  in  which  the 
ten  or  twenty  millions  paid  to  the  men  out  here  is  wasted 
rather  appals  me.  I  should  think  75  per  cent,  goes  in 
alcohol  and  gambling.  The  extent  to  which  the  latter  goes 
on  here  is  extraordinary.  Men  who  rim  "  Crown  and 
Anchor  Boards  "  make  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  francs, 
and  you  continually  come  across  cases  of  men  losing  ten 
or  twenty  francs  within  a  few  hours  of  receiving  it  as 
pay.  As  soon  as  the  war  has  been  going  two  years  the 
New  Army  men  will  be  beginning  to  get  the  extra  6d. 
a  day  proficiency  pay.  This  will  simply  be  wasted  like 
the  rest.  In  my  opinion  it  should  be  made  deferred  pay, 
and  handed  over  to  men  in  the  form  of  a  Savings  Bank 
account  at  the  end  of  the  war. 

I  have  just  finished  Voltaire's  "  Siecle  de  Louis  Quatorze  " 
and  de  Maupassant's  "  En  Famille."  Maupassant's  stories 
are  decidedly  diverting  ;  you  might  let  me  have  some  more. 


JANUARY  1   TO  MAY  4,   1916  275 

By  the  way,  don't  send  me  Rupert  Brooke's  "  Letters 
from  America."  I  have  read  most  of  them  already,  and 
the  Brooke  mania  seems  so  remote  from  the  Rupert  I 
knew  so  well.  What  Rupert  would  have  said  about  some 
of  his  worshippers,  fervent  Christians  and  such-like  people  ! 
How  they  can  swallow  poems  like  that  on  "  Fish  "  passes 
my  comprehension — but  obviously  it  pays  them  to  claim 
genius  as  belonging  to  themselves,  especially  when  it  cannot 
say  them  nay. 

Also  I  do  not  want  Shakespeare  sent  because  of  any 
"  commemoration."  It  is  quite  right,  no  doubt,  that  he 
should  be  commemorated,  but  reading  now  for  me  has  a 
touch  of  desperation  about  it.  I  feel  it  is  as  if  my  mind 
were  twitching  in  efforts  to  clutch  at  the  life  of  thought. 
Not  but  what  I  turn  to  reading  with  enormous  relief.  But 
it  is  too  intensely  personal  now  for  me  to  feel  for  a  literary 
celebration.  However,  I  could  do  with  "  Hamlet  "  and 
"  Lear  "  now — in  small  editions. 

I  can't  disguise  the  fact  that  I  am  utterly  sick  of  this 
fighting.  Being  nearly  killed  about  once  in  every  three 
weeks  ceases  to  be  an  "  adventure  "  after  ten  months  ; 
it  becomes  monotonous.  The  one  thing  I  crave  for  more 
than  anything  else,  especially  at  this  time  of  year,  is  an 
opportunity  of  enjoying  nature  in  peace,  away  from  the 
danger  of  shells,  the  sound  of  guns,  and  all  the  appurtenance 
of  war.  Every  pleasant  landscape  now  seems  to  suggest 
the  horrors  of  war  by  contrast.  Plave  just  got  the  news 
of  the  three  Zepp.  raids  yesterday.  This  kind  of  slaughter 
really  is  pretty  horrible.  One  wonders  how  far  it  is  going. 
I  hope  they  did  not  come  near  you  this  time.  I  hope  I 
shall  hear  from  you  soon. 

To  E.  S.  P.  Haynes. 

GTH  D.C.L.I.,  B.E.F. 

25  March,   1916. 

...  At  present  I  am  in  the  Divisional  Camp — a  sort  of 
semi-hospital,  not  far  from  the  firing-line,  for  the  slight 
cases  of  sickness.  I  have  had  three  attacks  of  "  flu  "  in 
three  weeks.  I  got  going  again  twice  after  lying  up  for  a 
day  or  two  in  the  trenches,  but  collapsed  after  each  effort. 


276  KEELING  LETTERS 

They  say  I  am  thoroughly  run  down.  I  am  certainly  more 
fed-up  with  fighting  than  I  have  ever  been. 

I  had  as  near  a  squeak  as  one  can  have  ten  days  ago  when 
going  down  from  the  trenches  accompanied  only  by  a  private 
at  nine  o'clock  on  a  delightful  spring  morning.  They  were 
shelling  quite  unpleasantly  all  the  time  we  were  going  down. 
We  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  village  which  we  were 
making  for  safely  and  I  thought  we  were  all  right,  when 
suddenly  a  high-velocity  shell  burst  right  by  us.  I  could 
see  nothing  for  the  thick  smoke.  Instinctively  I  jumped 
into  a  deep  trench  on  the  edge  of  which  we  were  walking. 
As  I  jumped  I  heard  the  private — one  of  my  best  men — 
call  out,  "  Oh,  major  !  "  (short  for  sergeant-major)  "  the 
bastards  have  got  me  at  last !  "  He  had  been  through 
everything  with  our  battalion  without  a  scratch,  and  I 
was  in  the  devil  of  a  funk,  knowing  that  the  cunning  Boche 
frequently  sends  two  shells  in  the  same  place  if  he  suspects 
any  one  of  being  there.  But  I  scrambled  out  of  the  trench 
as  quickly  as  I  could  (having  no  equipment  on)  and  found 
the  lad  lying  horribly  wounded  in  the  stomach.  I  cut  his 
trousers  down  and  stopped  the  blood  in  the  worst  place  with 
a  large  shell  dressing  which  I  had  carried  for  months.  He 
was  so  bad  that  I  could  not  bear  to  lift  him  down  into  the 
trench  alone,  as  it  was  so  deep  and  I  should  have  hurt  him 
badly.  So  I  took  the  chance  of  another  shell  doing  us 
both  in,  and  bellowed  for  stretcher-bearers — there  was 
another  regiment  billeted  in  the  village.  After  some 
minutes  they  arrived,  and  we  got  the  lad  to  their  dress- 
ing station  after  numerous  halts  due  to  damned  German 
aeroplanes  overhead.  He  was  fetched  away  by  the 
motor-ambulance,  but  died  the  same  day. 

That  sort  of  thing,  repeated  a  good  many  times,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  nervous  strain  of  shelling  and  bombardments, 
makes  one  utterly  war- weary.  On  this  particular  occasion 
I  was  damned  lucky.  I  was  not  touched,  but  found  a 
couple  of  holes  in  my  clothes,  made,  I  think,  by  bits  from 
the  shell  which  killed  the  lad  who  was  with  me. 

Of  course,  I  don't  want  peace  to  be  made  as  things  are. 
The  job  must  be  finished  off.  And  the  thought  of  the 
French  at  Verdun  inspires  one  to  endure  as  nothing  else 


JANUARY  1  TO  MAY  4,  1916  277 

does  at  the  moment.  But  how  one  dreams  of  the  end ! 
I  used  to  be  primarily  a  reformer — full  of  zeal  for  remedying 
this  or  that  specific  social  injustice.  I  still  am  it — au  fond. 
But  when  I  dream  of  aprds  la  guerre  I  do  not  think  at 
all  of  the  great  social  problems  which  will  immediately 
arise.  I  just  think  of  the  world — this  good  old  cheery 
ball  of  earth — as  a  place  of  exquisite  beauty,  adventure, 
joy,  love,  and  experience.  I  am  perfectly  content  with 
it  as  it  [is].  I  even  almost  love  its  defects,  as  one  almost 
loves  the  defects  of  a  friend  or  lover  who  satisfies  one.  You 
will  not  find  the  man  from  the  trenches  is  going  to  hate 
the  German  to  the  order  of  the  politician,  and  refuse  to  buy 
German  goods  which  are  obviously  preferable  to  the  British 
product.  By  God  !  I  can  see  the  scene — before  the  peace, 
even  during  the  armistice.  The  infantrymen  will  swarm 
over  the  parapets  of  the  trenches  on  both  sides  and  will 
exchange  every  damned  thing  which  they  can  spare  off 
their  persons — down  to  their  buttons  and  hats  and  bits 
of  their  equipment — for  "  souvenirs." 

If  only  one  has  the  luck  to  be  alive  to  enjoy  that  day  ! 
The  happiest  fate  of  all  would  be  to  be  alive  and  to  be  in 
the  trenches. 

I  am  not  far  from  the  original  haunts  where  my  battalion 
spent  its  first  nine  months  out  here.  It  is  pleasant  to 
have  a  change,  but  it  is  not  in  all  ways  for  the  better. 
The  spring  is  delightful  in  this  rolling  chalk  country. 
Every  morning  when  I  was  in  the  front-line  trenches  I 
used  to  hear  the  larks  singing  soon  after  we  stood- 
to  about  dawn.  But  those  wretched  larks  made  me 
more  sad  than  almost  anything  else  out  here.  .  .  . 
Their  songs  are  so  closely  associated  in  my  mind  with 
peaceful  summer  days  in  gardens  or  pleasant  landscapes 
in  Blighty.  Here  one  knows  that  the  larks  sing  at 
seven  and  the  guns  begin  at  nine  or  ten.  Every 
damned  morning  the  Boches  whizz-banged  and  trench- 
mortared  the  trench  that  I  was  in.  For  some  reason  they 
never  touched  the  greater  part  of  the  front  of  our  battalion. 
It  was  only  one  end — where  I  happened  to  be — that  they 
worried.  We  had  some  but  not  a  great  many  casualties 
from  the  shelling.  But  it  gets  on  one's  nerves.  The 


278  KEELING  LETTERS 

humorous  side  of  being  shelled  is  well  portrayed  by  that 
fellow  Bairnsfather.  Have  you  seen  his  collection  of  draw- 
ings "  Fragments  from  France  "  ?  They  are  not  art,  but 
they  are  extraordinary  good  expressions  of  the  soldier's 
humour  about  his  own  rat-in-a-trap  predicaments.  He 
has  a  drawing  called  "  Where  did  that  one  go  [to]  ?  " 
when  the  shell  has  actually  "  blown  in  " — as  we  say — the 
speaker's  own  dugout.  That  is  the  remark  you  hear  after 
every  burst ;  each  man  anxiously  asks  his  neighbour, 
"  Where  did  that  one  go  ?  "  It  is  funny — if  one's  nerves 
have  left  one  any  sense  of  humour — and  funnier  still  when 
you  reflect  that  the  "  next  one  "  may  by  force  majeure 
prevent  you  from  making  any  inquiry  at  all. 

Excuse  these  dirty  "  scraps  of  paper  "  —but  perhaps  they 
are  appropriate  for  the  correspondence  of  one  who  rushed 
to  volunteer  on  the  inspiration  caused  by  poor  old  Bethmann- 
Hollweg'a  unfortunate  phrases  of  those  hot  August  days 
of  long  ago.  I  write  lying  on  the  floor  of  a  well-built  hut 
which  we  English  have  taken  over  from  the  French  Red 
Cross.  The  bright  sunshine,  blue  sky,  and  clouds  and 
budding  trees  which  I  can  see  through  the  window  make  me 
think  of  the  Alps  and  Northern  Italy.  But,  damn  it,  they 
are  fighting  even  where  I  tramped  for  pleasure  in  the  Dolo- 
mites !  Well,  it  will  end  some  time  and  somehow.  Only 
let  it  be  a  definite,  well-established  peace  when  it  does 
come.  The  Prussian  monarchy  must  be  smashed,  but  the 
German  people  must  be  given  a  chance  to  live  an  honourable 
life  in  the  world  if  they  will  dissociate  themselves  from  the 
bloody  system  of  militarism. 

.  .  .  By  the  way,  public  movements  unconnected  with  the 
war  probably  languish  for  lack  of  funds  now,  so  I  enclose 
my  humble  sub.  for  the  D.L.R.O.  (five-franc  notes  can  be 
changed  at  any  P.O.),  which  kindly  forward  to  the  Treasurer, 
whose  address  I  forget.  .  .  . 

Have  been  reading  Anatole  France,  Voltaire,  and  Maupas- 
sant while  I  have  been  ill.  Voltaire  is  one  of  the  great  figures 
of  all  the  ages — his  combination  of  luminous  sanity  and 
passion  for  human  rights  makes  him  stand  out  even 
among  the  great.  I  have  always  ranked  him  far  above 
Rousseau. 


JANUARY  1   TO  MAY  4,   1916  279 

To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

Good  Friday,   1916.     In  the  trenches. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  your  letter  and  the  photo- 
graphs of  the  children.  Bernard  is  certainly  getting  like 
me  in  some  respects.  Mrs.  Green  was  much  struck  by  it. 

I  am  a  bit  rheumaticky  as  a  result  of  two  days  in  the 
wet  in  the  trenches,  but  am  beginning  to  take  it  as  part 
of  the  normal  troubles  of  life.  Had  another  dose  of  trench 
fever  on  Sunday,  but  determined  to  come  up  the  line  on 
Monday  and  have  felt  all  right  since.  .  .  .  They  have 
started  pretty  big  stuff  into  our  village  into  which  we  go 
in  support.  (At  present  in  front  line.)  But  I  think  the 
cellars  are  fairly  safe  as  things  go.  Our  artillery  takes  the 
aggressive,  and  one  can  hardly  blame  them  for  hitting  back. 
I  hope  you  have  got  the  Red  Feather.  It  is  not  a  bad 
number,  I  think.  The  French  Foreign  Office  is  making 
a  collection  of  trench  magazines  and  has  written  to  me  for 
a  set  of  the  Red  Feather.  You  will  probably  recognize 
"  Ons  Heeres  Boomtje." 

I  can  vaguely  remember  learning  to  tell  the  time  and 
appreciate  Bernard's  efforts.  I  suppose  they  don't  learn 
from  "  Reading  Without  Tears  "  now.  But  I  probably 
learnt  the  three  "  R's  "  in  the  style  of  your  generation 
rather  than  that  of  your  children,  let  alone  your  grand- 
children. I  begin  to  feel  very  old,  and  shall  till  I  am  born 
again  after  the  war.  That  is  what  survival  will  mean  to 
some  of  us. 

Well,  good-bye. 

Thanks  for  the  Nation  and  Nineteenth  Century.  Remain 
Rolland  never  reached  me. 

To  Mrs.  Green. 

B.E.F.     28  April,  1916. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  your  letter  and  papers,  which 
came  up  with  the  rations  last  night.  A.  G.  G.'s  denuncia- 
tion of  George  in  the  Daily  News  is  excellent.  I  should 
think  it  would  penetrate  even  that  toughening  hide,  and  it 
is  good  to  find  the  truth  let  out  in  the  Liberal  Press.  No  ! 
don't  send  me  that  volume  of  poems.  I  am  thankful  that 


280  KEELING  LETTERS 

there  has  been  no  good  war  poetry,  or  very  little.  There 
is  not  much  that  is  poetic  about  this  war.  It  is  bad  enough 
to  have  to  listen  to  those  people  who  justify  war  because 
it  gives  them  a  quasi-sensual  satisfaction  to  see  humanity 
crucified  after  the  manner  of  the  founder  of  Christianity. 
It  would  be  almost  worse  to  find  our  intellectual  reactionaries 
—ineligible  for  the  trenches — deriving  satisfaction  from  war 
as  a  stimulant  of  great  literature.  I  am  more  interested 
in  life  than  in  poetry,  and  I  should  regard  it  as  a  disaster 
to  humanity  if  really  great  war  poems  began  to  appear.  It 
would  imply  that  war  did  really  express  something  essential 
and  inevitable  in  the  human  soul.  I  do  not  regard  that 
little  volume  of  Gibson's  poems  as  really  war  poetry.  It 
is  about  war,  but  not  war  poetry.  The  same  applies  to 
Squire's  poem  in  the  Statesman,  which  seemed  to  me  rather 
good.  I  have  seen  too  much,  and  my  heart  is  too  much 
set  on  a  new  life,  to  leave  me  much  emotion  to  spare  for  the 
ruined  stones  of  Ypres.  When  I  was  there  I  acquired  a 
sort  of  affection  for  the  place  from  our  Army's  association 
with  it.  But  debris  are  debris,  and  the  Cloth  Hall  is  rather 
reminiscent  of  the  dead  beauty  of  Venice,  which  simply 
gets  on  my  nerves.  I  am  much  more  interested  in  the 
Annuaires  Statistiqucs  of  the  Pas  de  Calais  and  the  histories 
of  the  Comte  of  Artois,  which  I  collected  here  and  which 
some  brute  has  now  destroyed.  They  were  a  genuine 
and  direct  link  with  the  past.  There  is  a  hopeless  gap 
between  the  Cloth  Hall  and  us. 

My  rheumatic  demons  performed  a  culminating  war- 
dance — by  way  of  a  sort  of  piece  de  resistance,  I  suppose — 
for  about  four  hours  yesterday  evening.  Then  I  slept  from 
sheer  exhaustion,  dreaming  a  lot,  which  I  rarely  do,  and 
waking  up  for  a  few  minutes  at  the  sound  of  a  very  heavy 
bombardment  a  few  miles  away.  The  Boches  have  been 
sending  pretty  heavy  stuff  just  over  my  head  this  morning. 
Am  sorely  tempted  to  come  on  leave  next  Wednesday. 
Only  three  of  my  men  who  have  never  missed  trenches 
remain  to  go. 

Well,  I  must  be  off  to  have  a  look  at  my  scavenging 
party.  I  hope  to  specialize  on  dead  rats,  which  I  think 
are  rather  pernicious. 


JANUARY  1  TO  MAY  4,   1916  281 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     4  May,  1916. 

All  being  well,  which  it  possibly  may  not  be,  I  shall  come 
out  of  the  trenches  some  time  towards  midnight  on  Saturday 
and  leave  our  rest  billets  at  5  p.m.  on  Sunday,  to  start  on 
my  journey  on  leave.  Of  course  one  never  knows  if  leave 
may  not  be  suddenly  stopped  for  a  few  days  or  indefinitely, 
so  do  not  be  disappointed  if  I  do  not  come  after  all.  I 
shall  wire  as  soon  as  possible  after  my  arrival  in  Blighty. 
By  Gad  !  the  thought  of  Blighty  seems  too  good  to  be  true. 

I  think stands  a  good  chance  of  being  nabbed  for 

the  Army  after  all.  Although  I  disapprove  of  this  in 
principle,  it  is  difficult  not  to  feel  a  malicious  satisfaction 
at  the  prospect.  I  know  a  large  proportion  of  these  Pacifist 
agitators  whose  names  are  very  prominent  nowadays. 
The  alliance  of  the  two  types,  demagogic  Socialists  and 
hypersensitive  aesthetic  intellectuals,  is  rather  amusing 
to  one  who  is  familiar  with  both  lots.  They  have  nothing 
in  common  really.  I  once  stayed  for  a  week  in  the  same 
Swiss  chalet  with  one  of  them  (a  lady),  who  disliked 
me  intensely.  If  any  one  was  ever  vaterlandslos  it  is  she. 
Resident  in  Italy,  and  the  friend  of  all  sorts  of  scholars 
in  Germany  and  France,  steeped  in  eighteenth-century 
"  enlightenment,"  she  is  as  cosmopolitan  as  a  typical 
Roman  citizen  of  the  third  century.  I  should  rather  like 
to  have  an  hour  with  her  for  all  that.  I  am  not  so 
crude  as  I  was  when  I  met  her  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
three,  and  she  interests  me  as  a  kind  of  Zoological  Gardens 
specimen  of  Homo  sapiens. 

I  have  been  talking  this  afternoon  with  my  company 
officer,  with  whom  I  get  on  excellently.  He  has  spent 
some  dozen  years  in  the  ranks  on  foreign  service.  The 
foreign-service  English  soldier  is  a  very  different  man  from 
the  home-service  man — far  more  to  my  liking. 

Well,  I  have  done  a  lot  of  foolish  things  in  my  time,  but 
I  think  there  are  few  men  or  women  who  can  be  so  much 
at  home  in  so  many  different  environments  as  I  can.  And 
after  all  that  is  not  a  bad  foundation  for  a  life  worth  living. 
I  find  it  difficult  to  believe  that  I  shall  ever  be  bored  or 


282  KEELING  LETTERS 

dissatisfied  if  I  survive  the  war  unmanned.  But  that,  of 
course,  is  an  illusion  analogous  to  that  of  the  perfect 
marriage. 

This  place  is  steadily  getting  warmer  for  trench  mor- 
taring and  shelling.  I  hate  the  sound  of  a  bombardment 
more  and  more,  as  week  by  week  the  sights  and  sufferings 
that  it  implies  become  more  and  more  familiar  to  me. 
But  the  larks  sing  all  day  over  these  trenches,  undisturbed 
by  shells,  aeroplanes,  and  all  the  appurtenances  of  war. 
They  seem  to  flourish  here  much  more  than  in  Flanders. 

This  Irish  revolt  is  a  tragedy  for  Ireland,  for  which  the 
Ulstermen  are  as  much  responsible  as  any  one,  since  they 
started  the  fashion  of  keeping  private  armies.  I  should 
hope  that  mankind  will  be  weary  of  violence  as  a  means  of 
settling  disputes  within  the  limit  of  a  single  State  after 
this  war,  and  that  revolutionary  Syndicalism  and  feminism 
will  be  rather  out  of  fashion.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  I 
have  seen  it  argued  that  Anglo-Saxon  ex-soldiers  will  be 
more  prone  to  violence  in  civil  and  labour  disputes.  It 
is  difficult  to  say. 

Well,  anyhow,  I  hope  to  see  you  next  week.  A  week 
of  liberty  will  be  glorious.  I  look  forward  above  all  to 
a  bit  of  peace  at  Colchester.  Auf  wicdcrschcn  ! 


CHAPTER   XI 
MAY    13  TO   AUGUST   18,  1916 

To  Mrs.  Green. 

VICTORIA  STATION. 

13  May,  1916,  6.15  a.m. 

AN  extraordinary  night.  Row  after  row  of  England's  fight- 
ing men  lying  sleeping  on  the  platform  or  sitting  on  their 
packs  reading  the  papers.  I  have  just  had  a  lovely  "  kip  " 
with  my  back  against  a  corner,  but  the  owner  of  a  stall  has 
come  along  and  wakened  me  in  order  to  open  his  shop 
front.  I  got  into  one  of  Smith's  carts  a  little  way  from 
Liverpool  Station  along  with  a  lot  of  the  Hants  Carabineers 
going  to  Waterloo.  From  there  I  got  another  Smith's  cart 
to  Victoria.  You  can't  get  on  to  Smith's  carts  or  "  kip  " 
on  the  platform  in  civil  life  !  Well,  it  has  been  fine,  my 
leave  in  Blighty.  The  happiest  week  in  my  life — undiluted 
happiness  !  I  was  afraid  at  one  time  that  leave  would 
unnerve  me — on  the  contrary,  it  has  bucked  me  up  con- 
siderably. All  the  trench  mortars,  whizz-bangs,  and  crumps 
that  Fritz  is  keeping  especially  for  me  have  no  terror  for 
me,  and  even  if  they  send  me  to  yon  side  of  the  Styx  I 
shall  probably  upset  the  boat  going  over  for  a  joke,  except 
that  it  might  hurt  poor  old  Charon's  feelings.  I  wonder  if 
Charon  will  take  paper  money  for  his  obol  now  the  war 
is  on  ;  it  seems  a  much  better  douceur  than  a  French  five- 
franc  note  !  I  wonder  whether  the  guillotined  Royalists 
tried  to  get  over  with  an  assignat.  It  would  be  just  like 
a  Frenchman  to  try. 

To  the  Same. 

CAMP  NEAR  PORT  OF  DISEMBARKATION. 

14  May,  1916,  8  a.m. 

Last  night,  after  a  rather  rough  crossing,  we  were  formed 
up  on  the  quay  and  stood  there  for  well  over  half  an  hour, 

283 


284  KEELING  LETTERS 

patience,  punctuated  by  blasphemy,  being  the  predominant 
note  in  the  tone  of  the  gathering.     It  appears  that  no  guides 
to  the  famous  and  much  cursed  "  rest  "  camp  of  this  port 
had  appeared,  so  of  course,  when  they  did  set  off  they  took 
us  for  a  jolly  route-march  of  three  or  four  miles  over  the 
mountains  in  the  wrong  direction,  and  ended  up  at  another 
camp  only  partially  full  up.     I  call  it  a  "  march,"  but  I 
should  have  been  sorry  for  any  one,  from  Sir  Douglas  Haig 
downwards,  who  tried  to  make  us  march.     We  "  went  " 
in  our  own  sweet  way,  in  twos  and  threes  and  fours  and 
nineteens.     The   military   police   on   the   quay   showed   a 
great  improvement  in  manners  during  the  past  few  months. 
They  said  "  please,"  and  treated  us,  quite  rightly,  as  a 
well-trained    civilian    policeman    treats    a   civilian    crowd. 
Last  May  I  saw  one  draw  a  revolver,  but  an  R.S.M.  of  our 
brigade  promptly  put  him  under  arrest,  as  I  should  have 
been  delighted  to  do  myself.     There  is  no  doubt  that  the 
whole  B.E.F.  becomes  more  and  more  like  armed  civilians, 
which  is  quite  right,  because  it  is  the  nature  of  the  English 
race  to  fight  as  armed  civilians.     As  a  matter  of  fact  the 
French  are  much  the  same.     The  conception  of  a  soldier 
as  a  wholly  different  sort  of  animal  from  a  civilian  is  really 
now  simply  Prussian.     Of  course,  special  sentiments  and 
points  of  honour  are  emphasized  by  military  life,  but  they 
are  not,  or  should  not  be,  different  from  those  of  civilian 
life.     Part  of  the  game  of  knocking  about  these  sort  of 
places  as  a  C.S.M.  is  that  you  suddenly  find  yourself  in 
charge  of  anything  up  to  two  hundred  men  from  every  part 
of  the  British  Empire,  whom  you  have  never  set  eyes  on 
before.     When  I  was  in  a  convalescent  camp  after  being 
wounded  I  had  to  look  after  a  barrack-room  of  forty  men, 
including  every  type  of  British  and  colonial  soldier.     They 
frightened  me  a  little  at  first,  but  I  managed  them  all  right. 
This  morning  I  have  had  a  company  including  every  sort 
of  man  from  Anzacs  to  Irish.     Last  night  we  just  scrambled 
into  tents  anyhow — frightfully  cold  and  no  blankets.     We 
marched    from  the  wrong   camp    to    the    right    one    this 
morning,    and   I    have   just   made   a   first-rate   breakfast. 
There  are  lots  of  Anzacs  about  here.     I  think  they  mix 
less  readily  with  the  English  than  the  Canadians  do,  but 


MAY  13  TO  AUGUST  18,   1916  285 

I   like   the   men   immensely,   though   I   think    they   look 
down  on  us. 

Off  presently  up  the  line  and  to  all  that  that  means. 


To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     17  May,  1916. 

Here  I  am  again  in  the  old  dugout  with  a  cheerful  brazier 
giving  out  a  red  glow.  I  got  all  the  papers  you  sent  last 
night.  I  am  cheerfully  replete  with  bacon  and  eggs  and  tea 
and  enjoying  your  Russian  cigarettes.  The  weather  is 
good  again  this  week,  and  I  lay  in  a  field  all  yellow  with 
buttercups  and  dandelions  just  opposite  my  dugout  this 
morning  and  thought  much  of  Colchester.  The  shells 
don't  drop  very  near  here,  but  the  noise  of  them  and  an 
occasional  "  zip  "  of  bullets  is  irritating.  I  suppose  I  am 
six  or  seven  hundred  yards  from  the  Germans,  not  much 
farther  back  than  where  I  live  when  the  battalion  is  in  the 
front  line.  I  am  thinking  of  going  to  bathe  this  afternoon 
in  a  stream  three  hundred  yards  or  so  back.  Shells  don't 
seem  to  drop  there  and  the  willows  and  elms  along  the 
bank  look  very  tempting.  I  hope  that  brute  who  shot 
Skeffington  is  heavily  punished,  otherwise  I  shall  begin  to 
think  that  England  has  Prussianized  herself  in  fighting 
Prussia.  I  think  nothing  short  of  a  death  sentence  on  that 
man  can  suffice,  if  a  fair  trial  confirms  the  facts  which  we 
all  assume  to  be  true.  Life  is  getting  too  cheap  altogether, 
especially  in  the  eyes  of  people  who  read  of  death  every 
day  but  never  witness  it. 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     19  May,  1916. 

Here  is  a  flower  which  a  lad  just  tossed  me  as  he  passed 
my  dugout  in  a  long  string  of  men  on  the  way  to  carry 
or  dig  far  into  the  night.  He  said,  "  That  will  remind  you 
of  Blighty,  Major."  A  graceful  act  like  that  is  among 
the  very  best  things  in  the  world.  The  flower  has  brought 
me  nearer  to  home.  That  was  its  end  in  life  as  you  and  I 
see  it,  though  I  hate  the  Christian  philosophy  which  would 


286  KEELING  LETTERS 

go  on  to  point  a  moral  of  general  self-effacement  of  every 
living  thing  for  every  other  living  thing.  We  go  into  the 
line  again  to-morrow  night.  Rather  sorry  to  leave  my 
pleasant  existence  here.  I  have  cut  a  seat  in  the  earth 
outside  my  dugout  and  have  got  to  enjoy  the  look  of  the 
fields  and  hills  by  the  little  river  behind  here.  All  the 
fields  between  and  behind  the  lines  of  trenches  are  now 
ablaze  with  yellow  wild  flowers  ;  there  are  not  so  many 
poppies  here  as  in  some  of  the  fields  of  Flanders  which 
war  has  driven  out  of  cultivation.  The  corn  is  now  coming 
up  half  wild  amongst  the  weeds  and  flowers  for  the  second 
time.  The  peasants  will  have  almost  a  hopeless  job  to  get 
these  fields  into  good  cultivation  after  the  war.  We  here 
often  wonder  what  will  happen  to  the  trenches.  Every 
division  or  other  unit  thinks  it  does  more  "  fatigues  "  than 
any  one  else,  and  prophesies  gloomily  that  it  will  be  kept 
out  here  after  every  one  else  to  fill  in  the  trenches,  just  as 
we  used  to  have  to  fill  in  the  practice  trenches  we  made 
in  Blighty. 

I  have  found  that  the  alluring  grey  and  white  cat  which 
used  to  prowl  round  my  dugout  is  the  mother  of  four 
kittens.  I  went  to  see  them  in  their  nest  in  the  dressing 
station  dugout  two  nights  ago.  Yesterday  she  carried 
them  about  four  hundred  yards  up  the  road  to  a  big  dugout 
where  fifty  or  sixty  of  my  men  are.  There  are  two  other 
nests  of  kittens  about  here,  one  of  them  up  in  the  trenches, 
and  one  is  almost  always  meeting  new  dogs  and  puppies 
that  roam  about  and  get  board  and  lodging  off  any  old 
soldier  in  the  trenches  or  the  ruined  village.  They  say 
that  one  came  over  from  the  German  lines.  The  trenches 
are  rather  a  fine  place  for  these  creatures  when  things  are 
quiet.  There  was  hardly  any  bombarding  round  here  last 
night.  It  is  rather  strange  how  we  regard  bombarding 
as  a  matter  dependent  on  some  great  power  above,  and 
independent  of  us.  You  say  to  a  man  in  the  morning, 
"  A  decent  quiet  night  last  night,"  just  as  you  might  say, 
"  A  fine  day  this  morning."  Every  one  hates  the  sound 
of  even  a  distant  bombardment.  It  makes  you  appre- 
hensive, especially  if  you  have  been  through  any  sort  of 
a  hot  time  in  the  past. 


MAY   13  TO  AUGUST   18,   1916  287 

Reverting  to  the  animals  about  here,  one  of  my  men  tells 
me  that  when  they  bombarded  a  wood  behind  the  village 
not  long  ago,  several  dogs  ran  out  of  it  yelping  and  bark- 
ing. There  is  something  comic  in  the  idea  of  the  animal 
creation  unwittingly  letting  itself  in  for  the  consequences 
of  human  folly. 

Thanks  for  Public  Opinion  ;  it  is  a  useful  paper  out  here  ; 
but  I  wish  the  gentleman  would  not  always  cover  his  front 
page  with  a  speech  or  article  most  like  an  "  uplift  "  sermon 
that  he  can  find.  I  do  not  like  "  uplift  "  and  it  has  not 
much  use  for  me.  But  perhaps  he  caters  largely  for  the 
parson  who  wants  to  be  well  informed,  can  only  afford  one 
daily  paper,  and  is  too  lazy  to  go  to  a  Public  Library. 

One  of  my  men  who  is  a  plumber  is  making  a  drain  to 
take  off  the  waste  water  from  a  pump  from  which  a  good 
deal  of  the  water  for  the  trenches  is  fetched.  As  the  result, 
I  think,  of  the  earth  being  stirred  up,  the  fumes  of  a  lachry- 
matory gas  shell  which  had  pitched  there  were  let  loose, 
and  when  I  went  to  see  him  at  the  end  of  the  morning 
yesterday  his  eyes  were  all  red  and  watering.  I  had  not 
been  there  five  minutes  myself  before  I  began  to  blink  and 
wipe  my  eyes.  I  suppose  the  main  idea  of  these  shells  in 
a  big  show  is  to  cause  bad  shooting  and  perhaps  also 
"  wind  up." 

With  regard  to  what  you  say  about  Women  Suffrage,  I 
am  a  realist  or  try  to  be  before  all  things  in  politics,  and  am 
always  testing  my  general  ideas  in  relation  to  facts  of  social 
and  individual  life.  I  am  not  only  a  Suffragist,  I  would 
throw  every  political  position  from  Cabinet  rank  downwards 
open  to  women ;  but  I  am  confident  that  there  will  never 
be  more  than  a  minority  of  women  in  such  positions,  and  I 
am  convinced  that  it  would  be  a  disaster  if  there  were  more 
than  a  minority.  Gurney  Benham,  who  is  a  keen  Suffragist, 
said  to  me  that  he  thought  men  and  women  were  similar 
creatures  in  public  affairs.  I  don't.  The  homo  sum 
argument  is  valid  up  to  a  point,  but  only  up  to  a  point. 
Most  Suffragists  would  consider  this  appalling  high  treason  ; 
that  is  because  Ic  Ion  Dieu  has  not  thought  fit  to  enlarge 
their  dear  little  minds.  A  cynic  might  say  that  I  am 
prepared  to  free  women  because  I  am  convinced  of  the 


288  KEELING  LETTERS 

superiority  of  men,  but  he  would  be  a  very  horrid  cynic 
and  would  only  be  speaking  about  3  of  the  truth. 


To  Mrs.  Townshend. 

B.E.F.     I  June,  1916. 

I  was  very  glad  to  get  your  letter  while  in  the  trenches, 
and  Shaw's  article  on  the  Germans  delighted  me,  though 
I  confess  that  the  New  Age  as  a  whole  is  too  modern  for  me. 
I  have  all  along  been  and  am  now  one  of  the  people  interested 
in  politics  who  remember  and  cannot  remain  unconscious 
of  what  English  political  conditions  were  like  before  1906. 
It  often  strikes  me  as  very  curious,  or  perhaps  it  isn't  really, 
that  among  the  Intelligentzia  a  large  proportion  of  the 
most  "  advanced  "  people  of  the  present  day  are  those  who 
were  bitterly  opposed  to  what  was  generally  recognized  as 
progressive  before  1906.  People  who  were  anti-Suffragists 
then  became  prison-going  feminist  revolutionists  about 
1909,  and  anti-Socialists  became  Syndicalists.  The  first 
political  book  which  influenced  me  profoundly  was  Maine's 
"  Ancient  Law,"  and  my  political  thinking  is  descended 
from  the  Whiggery  of  Maine  and  goes  back  through  Macaulay 
to  the  Puritanism  of  the  seventeenth  century  and  ultimately 
perhaps  to  classical  republicanism.  Therefore  I  cannot 
swing  from  one  pole  to  another  of  social  theory,  though  I 
should  be  far  from  claiming  consistency  as  a  virtue  in  all 
or  perhaps  in  many  circumstances. 

You  are  quite  right  in  saying  that  Colchester  represents 
England  better  than  London  now.  All  my  past  civilian 
life  seems  a  very  long  way  away  now,  and  I  can  review  the 
past  ten  years  impartially.  I  shall  certainly  never  live 
in  London  again  if  I  can  possibly  help  it.  All  this  North- 
cliffism  is,  I  think,  mainly  due  to  the  unhealthy  condition 
of  "  the  wen,"  as  Cobbett  called  it.  Urban  Yorkshire  is 
barbarous,  perhaps  half  American,  and  East  Anglia  may  have 
a  drowsy  atmosphere  overhanging  it,  but  they  are  pretty 
well  denned  living  communities  of  men  familiar  as  entities 
to  every  one's  thought.  They  can  hit  back,  vaguely  and 
half  blindly  perhaps,  but  still  as  unities,  against  bamboozle- 
ment.  London  cannot  and  won't,  and  swallows  these 
beastly  lies  much  more  easily. 


MAY  13  TO  AUGUST  18,   1916  289 

You,  of  course,  look  forward  to  craft  or  industrial  organiza- 
tion splitting  across  local  governmental  organization.  But 
I  don't  see  much  to  be  proud  of  in  the  conduct  either  of 
the  big  employers  or  of  the  workmen  and  their  organiza- 
tions in  this  war. 

Neither  of  them  is  ashamed  to  enrich  themselves  with  the 
price  of  blood,  and  no  one  can  conceive  of  the  present-day 
urban  worker  ever  being  in  general  as  fine  a  creature  in  his 
workshop  as  he  is  as  a  soldier. 

Of  course,  it  is  hard  for  people  at  home  to  realize  what 
we  are  going  through.  I  found  myself  after  a  day  or  two 
automatically  placing  every  one  I  met  either  in  one  or 
other  of  the  two  types,  those  who  do  and  those  who  don't 
feel  for  the  "  trench  population,"  as  Churchill  rightly 
called  us  in  contradistinction  to  all  the  limpets  who  cling 
to  safe  jobs  behind  the  lines.  There  are  very  few  of  them 
who  could  not  be  replaced  by  war-worn  men.  (That  speech 
of  Churchill's  voiced  the  sentiments  of  an  Army  as  few 
speeches  in  history  have  ever  done.)  I  think  women  on 
the  whole  feel  for  us  more  than  men,  though  some  women 
are  bestially  cruel  in  their  anti-German  sentiments. 

I  am  in  no  way  a  peace-at-any-price  man  and  follow  Grey 
in  his  admirable  speech  entirely. 

Of  course  we  don't  have  a  bad  time  always.  Just  now 
we  are  having  a  glorious  six  days'  rest  (including  some  night 
trench  digging  as  a  fly  in  the  ointment)  after  eighteen  days 
"  in."  We  are  in  a  nicer  village  than  the  last  one  we  had, 
though  we  can  easily  be  shelled  if  Fritz  likes — and  perhaps 
he  will  like  soon,  as  a  big  gun  near  by,  worked  by  marines, 
was  smashing  him  up  this  afternoon.  However,  it  is  a 
good  Army  and  a  good  war  to-day,  as  we  say,  and  it  is  no 
good  living  for  anything  but  the  present  out  here,  except 
when  the  present  is  too  unpleasant  to  be  tolerable  ;  then 
think  of  the  future  or  of  anything  but  your  own  environment. 

.  .  .  There  does  seem  to  be  a  fair  hope  of  peace  before 
Christmas.  No  more  winters  in  Northern  Europe  for  me  ! 
I  have  had  enough  wet  and  cold  for  all  my  natural.  England 
won't  see  much  more  of  me  after  the  war.  I  have  repaid 
some  of  the  bounty  she  has  showered  on  me  and  am  ripe 
for  life  in  a  new  land.  I  think  there  is  no  doubt  that  a  lot 

20 


290  KEELING  LETTERS 

of  men  will  be  making  for  the  colonies.  The  war  has  brought 
out  the  Robinson  Crusoe  that  is  in  every  Englishman. 

Well,  I  only  hope  they  won't  blow  my  head  off  next 
week  to  put  an  end  to  the  realization  of  the  scheme  of 
my  next  chapter. 

I  am  having  Curtis's  book  sent  me.  I  hope  I  shall  live 
to  see  great  developments  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  Common- 
wealth. I  am  glad  that  they  are  talking  about  Common- 
wealth and  not  Empire.  .  .  . 

It  is  not  without  significance  that  Dilke  and  Chamberlain, 
two  of  the  great  founders  of  what  is  unfortunately  called 
Imperialism,  were  both  also  republicans  by  choice  and  only 
opportunist  monarchists. 

I  cannot  understand  why  some  of  my  friends  (Pacifists 
or  semi-Pacifists  mostly)  are  gloomy  about  the  political 
future.  I  am  full  of  hope.  The  English  spirit  is  going  to 
extend  itself  in  the  world,  I  feel  convinced. 


To  Clifford  D.  Sharp. 

4  June,  1916. 

Enclosed  is  first  instalment  of  stuff  for  the  eighth  number 
of  the  Red  Feather — a  drawing  and  two  poems.  We  have 
got  the  next  number  more  or  less  planned  out,  and  I  expect 
:more  stuff  will  be  in  soon.  .  .  . 

The  2 ist  May  was  the  anniversary  of  our  landing  in 
France.  We  could  not  do  anything  to  celebrate  it,  as  we 
were  in  front-line  trenches.  Am  enjoying  six  days'  rest. 

Things  have  been  fairly  quiet  since  I  returned  in  our 
sector,  and  no  one  has  been  killed,  though  several  have  been 
wounded  and  got  shell-shock — the  latter  from  a  bloody 
enormous  trench-mortar  projectile  which  they  have  just 
brought  up  into  our  region  ;  it  makes  a  hole  like  a  Jack 
Johnson  hole  and  is  damnably  nerve-shattering.  The 
Germans  have  revived  the  practice  of  dropping  arrows  from 
aeroplanes  in  these  parts — rather  heavy  things  with  fowls' 
feathers  for  a  tail.  These  have  not  been  dropped  while 
we  have  been  at  rest,  but  we  have  found  a  good  many  in 
the  village.  It  is  the  best  village  we  have  had  for  some  time 
—some  decent  people  in  it — though  peasant  women  are 


MAY   13  TO  AUGUST  18,   1916  291 

bloody  about  objecting  to  one's  playing  cricket  on  their 
fields,  even  if  you  offer  to  pay  and  take  care  to  do  no 
damage. 

Churchill  has  obviously  made  some  misstatements,  but 
his  criticisms  have  been  very  useful  on  the  whole,  I  think. 
It  is  a  bit  of  a  blow  to  find  him  talking  in  a  matter-of-fact 
way  of  the  fighting  Army  of  late  1917.  If  I  really  expected 
to  be  here  till  then,  I  think  life  would  be  absolutely  un- 
bearable. 

The  most  violent  trade-war  people  seem  to  me  to  imply 
that  we  are  not  going  to  defeat  and  destroy  Prussian 
militarism.  If  we  do  a  trade  war  as  they  preach,  it  is  simply 
a  mischievous  idea.  Of  course  we  must  be  prepared  with 
much  State  support  of  industry  against  not  only  Germany, 
but  many  other  post-war  dangers.  But  these  people  seem 
to  be  determined  never  to  give  Germany  a  chance  of  being 
a  reformed  character,  and  don't  want  to  hope  that  she  will 
ever  be.  I  don't  expect  miracles  or  a  revolution,  but  I 
am  sure  that  the  German  is  by  nature  more  peace-loving 
than  the  Englishman,  and  that  there  will  be  a  great  revulsion 
of  feeling  in  Germany,  which  may  overcome  even  the  hopes 
which  the  idea  of  the  future  naval  war  with  England  might 
contain  for  some  Germans. 


Queer  thing  to  see  nothing  but  crucifixes  in  the  villages 
here,  while  in  Flanders  it  was  all  Virgins.  I  wonder  if  it 
is  because  religion  has  a  hold  on  men  as  well  as  women  in 
Flanders,  and  for  the  most  part  only  on  women  here. 
Obviously  one  needs  a  God  of  the  opposite  sex  to  oneself 
in  the  kind  of  religion  these  people  have.  Perhaps,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  contrast  represents  the  historical  conse- 
quences of  two  different  pagan  cults  of  centuries  ago. 


To  Mrs.  Green. 

B.E.F      4  June,  1916. 

I  have  this  morning  read  Toynbee  and  Bryce's  pamphlet 
on  the  Armenian  atrocities.  Much  as  I  prefer  the  Turk 
to  the  Armenian,  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  this  is  about 


292  KEELING  LETTERS 

the  most  dreadful  of  all  the  horrible  things  in  this  war,  and 
I  felt  compelled  to  send  a  humble  obol  to  the  Refugees 
Fund.  Allowing  for  all  the  exaggerations,  I  suppose  the 
total  number  of  Armenian  men,  women,  and  children  mas- 
sacred must  exceed  the  total  number  of  British  subjects 
killed  in  this  war.  One  cannot  get  away  from  the  fact 
that  the  Armenian  in  Turkey,  just  as  the  Jew  in  Russia, 
does  constitute  a  very  difficult  problem,  each  of  these  races 
possessing  the  money-getting  instinct  and  capacity  to  a 
far  greater  degree  than  the  natives  in  whose  land  they 
live.  But  nothing  can  justify  this  sort  of  massacre.  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  the  solving  of  the  nationality  problem 
after  the  war  really  ought  to  be  helped  out  by  a  certain 
amount  of  deliberate  geographical  sorting  out  and  trans- 
portation of  alien  minorities,  with  whom  majorities  cannot 
live  in  peace,  to  other  areas.  The  general  uprooting  which 
the  war  has  brought  about  in  various  places  would  make 
this  practicable,  I  think,  in  particular  areas.  I  think 
Zionism  ought  to  be  given  a  chance,  for  instance,  and  the 
population  of  Macedonia  could  be  sorted  out  to  a  certain 
extent.  It  is  extraordinary  how  the  Anglo-Saxons  seem 
able  to  assimilate  and,  where  they  do  not  assimilate,  to 
live  at  peace  with  aliens  much  better  than  any  one  else. 
The  French  can  assimilate  too,  but  they  do  not  tolerate 
other  languages  and  cultures  as  we  do.  Why  cannot 
mankind  at  large  learn  the  lesson  of  toleration  ?  I  am 
both  cosmopolitan  and  nationalist — more  nationalist,  I 
admit,  than  I  was  before  the  war,  because  the  distinctive 
qualities  of  the  English  have  come  to  light  more  positively 
than  before. 

I  have  been  knocking  about  near  the  front  line  planning 
out  the  men's  work  for  to-night  with  an  officer  and  sergeant. 
We  came  eventually  on  our  journey  to  a  road  which  runs 
through  our  lines  into  the  Germans'.  The  road  was,  of 
course,  overgrown  with  grass.  There  is  something  very 
mysterious  about  these  roads  which  run  from  your  own  lines 
into  enemy  country.  It  would  be  so  simple  to  walk  a  couple 
of  hundred  yards  farther  were  it  not  for  all  the  weapons 
of  war,  and  it  is  extraordinary  to  live  in  such  close  prox- 
imity to  the  gentlemen  opposite,  and  to  know  nothing,  or 


MAY  13  TO  AUGUST  18,   1916  293 

next  to  nothing,  about  their  doings.  The  road  unites  us. 
I  am  sure  many  a  mystically  fanciful  German  has  thought 
as  wistfully  as  I  have  of  the  continuation  of  one  of 
these  many  international  roads  as  he  sat  behind  his 
barricade. 

We  played  cricket  yesterday  evening  with  great  enjoy- 
ment. Lord  Henry  Bentinck  has  sent  my  men  a  set,  which 
they  greatly  appreciate.  An  old  peasant  woman  turned 
us  off  her  field  and  would  not  even  listen  to  offers  of  pay- 
ment. I  wonder  if  Germany's  sergeant-majors  offer  to  pay 
and  make  the  men  move  under  such  circumstances.  How- 
ever, in  the  end  I  gave  her  two  minutes'  continuous  of  my 
very  choicest,  knowing  that  she  would  not  "  compree." 
We  moved  to  a  bare  patch  and  then  a  Taube  came  over  ; 
however,  we  finished  our  game. 

I  don't  altogether  care  for  the  British  Workers'  National 
League,  whose  manifesto  you  sent.  I  think  it  is  rather  a 
false  adaptation  of  Australian  labourism  to  English  circum- 
stances. It  is  ridiculous  to  suppose  that  German  sweating 
is  what  we  have  to  fear  in  industrial  competition.  The 
manifesto  implies  too  much  truckling  to  the  Trade  War 
business  for  my  liking. 

I  have  just  finished  Barres's  "Au  Service  derAllemagne." 
I  enjoyed  it,  but  if  that  is  really  the  French  case  for  having 
Alsace-Lorraine,  then  I  cannot  say  I  am  much  impressed 
by  it.  In  effect  it  simply  amounts  to  the  claim  that  the 
mission  of  France  is  to  civilize  Germans  and  that  to  civilize 
Germans  is  to  Gallicize  them.  This  is  simply  polite  Prus- 
sianism.  I  don't  think  I  want  you  to  send  me  any  more 
of  Barres.  He  represents  reactionary  France,  which  is  in 
many  ways  more  alien  to  us  English  than  reactionary 
Germany.  As  between  Barres  and  Kaiser  Bill  I  have  very 
little  feeling  of  partisanship.  If  Barres  and  Bazin  really 
represented  France  I  should  feel  that  much  of  our  English 
blood  was  being  spilt  in  vain.  Here  are  some  oats  and 
poppies  from  the  old  trench  near  where  I  am  going  to  live. 
Oats  seem  to  flourish  wild  better  than  barley.  This  is  the 
second  year  that  the  corn  in  the  fields  in  which  our  trenches 
lie  must  have  come  up  wild. 


294  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     6  June,  1916. 

I  am  in  the  trenches  again.  We  came  up  last  night 
without  mishap. 

Thank  you  for  the  Nation — that  review  of  the  Grenville 
Letters  was  delightful — and  also  for  the  magazine  you  sent. 
I  like  Bairnsfather  immensely,  but  those  quasi-society 
weekly  papers  honestly  revolt  my  moral  sense.  There  is 
a  kind  of  half-hearted  sensuality  about  them,  extending 
even  to  the  paper  they  are  printed  on.  You  get  the  same 
in  the  gossip  pages  of  the  halfpenny  illustrated  papers, 
and  I  think  it  is  the  most  unclean  thing  in  England.  I  do 
think  that  the  Anglo-Saxon  peoples  make  more  of  a  mess 
of  sex  than  any  one  else  in  the  world.  I  don't  think  it  is 
really  in  the  blood,  and  I  believe  that  probably  the  practical 
Anglo-Saxon  capacity  will  in  the  end  reform  social  sexual 
morality  more  effectively  than  any  other  force  in  the  world, 
possibly  in  part  because  the  need  for  reform  is  greater  with 
us  than  it  is  with  any  other  race. 

I  have  just  been  interrupted  again  by  the  old  black  rat. 
My  batman  had  got  him  in  a  corner  outside  and  called  me 
to  help  to  dispatch  him.  Just  as  I  got  up  from  sitting  on 
the  dugout  steps  the  old  beggar  tried  his  usual  dodge  of 
running  down  the  steps  to  his  hole  downstairs.  I  got  him 
with  my  heel,  he  squeaked,  turned  back,  and  ran  under  a 
board  ;  Kearney  poked  him  out  while  I  snatched  up  a 
bayonet  and  smashed  his  head  open  as  he  ran  out  of  cover 
again.  He  did  not  suffer  long,  and  now  he  is  under  ground. 

I  have  been  talking  to  Kearney  about  his  trade  union. 
He  works  in  the  Bermondsey  leather  trade,  and  in  a  strong 
union  shop.  It  is  interesting  to  find  that  the  man  in  their 
trade  who  corresponds  to  the  "  shop  steward  "  in  the 
engineering  trade  or  the  "  father  of  the  chapel  "  in  the 
printing  trade  is  called  "  the  lord  of  the  shop."  The  English 
manage  to  make  nearly  all  their  institutions  marvellously 
picturesque  in  a  solid  sort  of  way.  There  is  something 
great  about  the  "  lord  of  the  shop  "  and  "  father  of  the 
chapel." 


MAY  13  TO  AUGUST  18,   1916  295 

The  point  about  sergeant-majors,  to  whose  general 
position  you  were  alluding  the  other  day,  is  that  there  are 
relatively  few  of  them,  far  fewer  than  there  are  captains, 
for  instance,  and  a  great  deal  fewer  than  there  are  sub- 
alterns. Also  I  should  think  they  have,  or  can  have,  more 
influence  over  the  men's  lives  for  good  or  evil  than  any  other 
rank.  I  don't  think  I  should  like  to  change  into  any  other 
position  off  the  Staff,  except  perhaps  that  of  a  regimental 
sergeant-major,  and  I  should  not  care  for  that  job  outside 
my  own  battalion. 

A  bit  of  a  strafe  has  just  started — some  sort  of  big  stuff 
dropping  in  our  second  line.  I  suppose  they  must  keep 
the  war  going. 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     10  June,  1916. 

I  have  been  pretty  busy  this  time  "in."  I  have  got  a 
new  idea  for  the  construction  of  trenches,  or  at  least  two 
new  schemes.  I  have  a  special  gang  of  men  working  out 
one  of  the  schemes  this  time,  and  I  go  round  and  direct 
operations  a  good  deal.  I  have  about  five  parties  working 
in  different  parts  of  the  trenches,  beside  the  men  manning 
saps  and  bombing  posts  ;  all  these  need  my  fatherly  eye, 
and  as  we  hold  about  a  mile  of  front,  and  the  trenches  are 
a  sort  of  Hampton  Court  maze,  I  get  a  good  deal  of  walking 
about.  I  have  now  moved  into  my  renovated  French 
dugout  in  a  maze  of  trenches  overgrown  with  weeds 
and  corn,  which  C.  and  I  call  the  "  jungle."  My  batman, 
the  Holborn  Restaurant  waiter,  has  returned  and  lives 
with  me  again.  Yesterday  morning,  when  I  was  still  in 
the  bomb  store,  and  just  after  I  had  had  breakfast,  a  whizz- 
bang  skimmed  the  top  of  the  place  and  burst  near.  I  had 
my  boots  and  equipment  off,  my  tunic  was  soaking  wet 
and  being  dried  by  a  brazier,  as  I  had  been  out  in  the  rain 
all  night,  but  I  leaped  up  and  ran  like  a  rabbit,  in  my 
bare  feet,  down  the  trench  just  as  another  one  burst.  I 
think  my  new  quarters  will  be  a  bit  safer. 

The  last  parcel  was  excellent,  especially  Rose's  cake. 
The  steak  and  kidney  pie  gave  me  the  best  dinner  I  had 
had  since  I  left  Blighty,  only  I  cut  my  finger  on  the  tin  in 


296  KEELING  LETTERS 

opening  it ;  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  have  cut  it, 
as  I  have  opened  scores  of  bully  tins  without  mishap. 

The  General  is  coming  to  see  my  new  trench  as  soon  as 
I  get  it  done.  I  had  a  Colonel  of  the  -  -  and  the  Brigade 
Major  and  Staff  Captain  round  to-day.  I  have  got  a  good 
lot  of  men  doing  it,  and  I  have  offered  them  one  five-franc 
note,  and  the  company  officer  has  offered  them  another,  if 
they  get  it  done  before  we  go  out  to  the  sunken  road  and 
ruined  village  to-morrow  night.  The  corporal  is  in  the 
building  trade,  and  the  men  include  Cornish  miners  and 
farm  hands  as  well  as  townies.  The  "  jungle  "  is  an  extra- 
ordinary place,  hardly  any  one  can  find  their  way  to  it, 
and  C.  and  I  threaten  any  officers  in  other  companies  who 
give  us  trouble  with  abduction  and  shooting,  or  confine- 
ment in  the  "  jungle."  The  old  French  dugouts  here 
had  largely  got  clogged  up  with  fallen  earth.  I  hope  that 
the  Germans  will  think  that  this  one  is  still  disused  and 
will  not  drop  stuff  here. 

I  hope  we  don't  have  any  more  Generals  as  Secretary  of 
State  for  War.  We  ought  to  have  a  civilian  now  on 
principle. 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     17  June,  1916. 

It  is  a  delightful  breezy,  sunny  day  to-day,  but  the  only 
result  of  the  breeze  is  that  we  have  to  be  alert  against 
gas,  and  the  only  result  of  the  sunshine  is  that  the  artillery 
can  observe  better.  Things  continue  to  be  pretty  quiet 
here.  Well,  I  should  think  that  Austria  will  soon  have 
had  enough,  but  I  can't  see  any  real  likelihood  of  a 
separate  peace  with  her. 

Thanks  for  the  Nation.  Its  attitude  irritates  me,  rather. 
It  seems  too  anxious  to  run  with  the  belligerent  hare  and 
chase  with  the  Pacifist  hound.  The  idea  of  a  separate 
peace  with  Turkey  or  Bulgaria,  which  Largnet  is  advocating, 
involves  dastardly  desertion  of  Russia  or  Serbia  or  both. 
I  can't  see  why  Russia  cannot  have  Constantinople.  No 
one  can  claim  it  on  grounds  of  nationality.  The  religious 
sentiment  in  the  matter  does  not  interest  me,  though  I 
have  a  growing  liking  for  Mohammedanism,  and  have  no 


MAY  13  TO  AUGUST  18,  1916  297 

desire  to  extend  the  sphere  of  the  Cross  at  the  expense  of 
the  Crescent,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  peace  of  the  world 
is  more  likely  to  be  assured  if  Russia  holds  Constantinople 
than  if  any  one  else  does.  For  one  thing,  it  would  be 
good  to  put  Constantinople  once  and  for  ever  out  of  the 
reach  of  these  Balkan  nationalities,  none  of  whom  is  ob- 
viously fit  to  run  it,  or  to  rule  any  people  of  alien  race. 
The  main  hope  for  the  Serbs  is  to  de-Balkanize  them  by 
uniting  them  with  the  Croats,  who,  as  the  result  of  centuries 
of  Austrian  rule  (give  the  devil  his  due),  are  much  more 
civilized  than  their  southern  brethren,  especially  more 
civilized  than  those  stage  brigands,  the  Montenegrins,  but 
we  must  do  all  we  can  to  put  the  Southern  Slav  race  on  its 
legs.  The  attitude  of  the  Italians  in  the  matter,  and  their 
utter  inability  to  sympathize  with  a  nation  which  is  trying 
to  do  what  they  did  a  century  ago,  is  what  disgusts  me  with 
them.  They  have  behaved  like  Dagos,  not  like  nationalists. 
Frenchmen  and  Italians  of  the  reactionary  type  are  both 
inclined  to  presume  too  much  on  their  charming  manners 
and  ancient  history.  Their  ancient  history  can  go  to  blazes 
as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  and  I  don't  care  much  more  about 
their  charming  manners,  if  they  cannot  learn  to  do  their 
duty  in  the  comity  of  nations.  Their  chauvinism  is  more 
invidious  than  that  of  Prussia  because  it  is  less  hideous. 
I  think  Austria  would  be  much  the  most  interesting  place 
to  visit  after  the  war,  or  the  South  of  France  for  pure 
pleasure,  but  anywhere  will  be  all  right  out  of  this 
hideous  life. 

Interrupted  by  a  rat.  Also  a  German  aeroplane  over. 
Had  a  few  shots  at  it  by  way  of  amusement. 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     23  June,  1916. 

This  desolate  area  of  craters  and  half  destroyed  trenches 
seems  more  and  more  extraordinary  after  one  has  lived 
here  a  day  or  two.  The  lower  stratum  of  solid  chalk  has 
simply  come  down  on  top  of  the  uppermost  soil  in  miniature 
mountains  and  valleys,  and  the  crater  ridges  stand  out 
in  fantastic  shapes  on  the  sky-line.  When  I  come  to  the 
inner  lip  of  one  of  the  craters  at  night  I  see  three  or  four 


298  KEELING  LETTERS 

black  forms  stretched  on  the  chalk  on  the  other  side.  These 
are  my  bombers,  watching  over  the  edge  of  the  outer  lip. 
A  lot  of  Germans  here  were  blown  up  with  their  own  mines. 
You  can  find  old  German  rifles  and  bits  of  equipment  mixed 
up  with  English  overcoats  ripped  in  half  and  great  logs 
which  have  fallen  all  over  the  place.  I  am  salvaging  some 
of  these  logs,  by  the  way,  to  make  new  dugouts  with.  It 
is  both  less  wasteful  and  less  laborious  than  having  new 
logs  carried  up  from  the  battalion  dump.  To-day  there 
was  a  most  remarkable  thunderstorm,  which  added  to  the 
general  atmosphere  of  death  and  destruction  which  seems 
to  have  found  an  almost  perfect  expression  in  this  place. 
A  light  cloud  seemed  to  be  coming  almost  down  to  the 
trenches.  For  a  moment  I  wondered  if  it  was  some  form 
of  poisonous  gas.  Fine  rain  began  to  fall ;  suddenly  there 
was  a  gust  of  wind  which  culminated  in  a  brief  hurricane, 
while  the  rain  seemed  to  develop  into  a  solid  torrent.  There 
was  a  little  thunder  and  sheet  lightning,  not  very  close. 
In  less  than  half  an  hour  it  was  all  over. 

I  am  very  glad  you  have  got  Havelock  Ellis's  volumes. 
I  think  they  show  an  extraordinary  combination  of  human 
insight  and  scientific  method.  Desmond  MacCarthy  was 
very  good  on  Stendhal  in  the  current  Statesman. 

I  am  much  interested  in  the  Arab  revolt.  I  feel  more 
and  more  that  Mohammedanism  ought  to  be  regarded 
with  intelligent  respect,  and  that  we  ought  to  supersede 
Turkey  as  the  great  Mohammedan  Power.  After  all,  most 
Mohammedanism  comes  much  nearer  to  intelligent 
Unitarianism  than  most  Christianity  does,  and  I  doubt 
whether  Mohammed  has  done  any  more  harm  to  women 
than  various  Christians  have  done — taken  together.  And 
the  traditional  Mohammedan  attitude  to  women  is  prob- 
ably not  regarded  by  intelligent  Mohammedans  as  an 
essential  part  of  their  ethics.  It  is  interesting  to  remember 
that  England  has  quite  rightly  in  certain  places  restricted 
Christian  missionary  effort  amongst  Mohammedans.  I 
wish  that  a  body  of  our  Intelligentzia — such  people  as 
Bernard  Shaw  and  Arnold  Bennett — would  issue  a  mani- 
festo of  sympathy  with  Mohammedanism,  or  at  any  rate 
that  in  some  way  a  public  recognition  of  an  equal  status 


MAY  13  TO  AUGUST  18,   1916  299 

of  Mohammedanism  with  Christianity  in  the  Empire  should 
be  accorded.  Why  should  not  George  V  become  a  sort 
of  protector  of  Islam  ?  He  is  already  both  a  Presbyterian 
and  an  Anglican  !  Can  you  get  a  pocket  edition  of  the 
Koran  to  send  me  and  any  small,  light  book  about 
Mohammedanism  ?  I  once  started  to  read  that  one  in 
the  Home  University  Library,  but  found  it  rather  jejune 
and  uninterestingly  written.  However,  if  there  appears 
to  be  no  other,  send  me  that,  and  I  will  see  if  I  can  get  it 
down  better  under  shell  fire  than  I  could  in  times  of  peace. 
This  extraordinary  bastard  negro  movement  in  Christian 
Nigeria  is  very  interesting.  How  little  we  understand 
the  dull  stirring  of  the  minds  of  people  in  that  stage  of 
development  ! 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     4  July,   1916. 

I  am  in  rather  more  comfortable  and  secure  quarters 
now,  and  shall  be  for  a  few  nights.  I  feel  full  of  pity  for 
the  poor  devils  in  the  big  fighting.  I  shall  go  into  it  with 
a  good  heart  when  my  turn  comes,  but  the  stuff  in  the  papers 
about  men  thirsting  to  attack  is  such  utter  nonsenser  and 
one  imagines  that  it  must  be  realized  to  some  extent  that 
it  is  so  even  by  civilians.  Why  do  these  foolish  journalists 
want  to  write  like  that  ?  It  simply  gives  a  false  account 
of  what  undoubtedly  our  good  moral  is  like,  and  throws 
a  false  glamour  over  the  bestiality  of  war.  Well,  I  shall 
sleep  with  my  boots  off  to-night  for  the  first  time  for  a 
fortnight. 

Last  night  I  saw,  I  think,  the  most  symbolical  scene  of 
warfare  which  I  have  ever  come  across.  As  I  turned  a 
corner  of  a  trench  with  a  young  officer  we  suddenly  faced 
a  fair  expanse  of  ground  over  which  the  contour  lines 
enabled  us  to  look.  The  horizon  was  near — only  three 
hundred  yards  or  so  away — topped  by  an  avenue  of  trees, 
bare  and  shell-stricken  on  the  right,  the  end  nearest  the 
firing-line,  and  gradually  becoming  more  leafy  as  we  looked 
to  the  left.  On  the  extreme  right  the  scene  ended  in  the 
hummocks,  holes,  and  gradual  slope  upwards  of  one  of  the 
big  mine  craters.  The  dominating  colour  of  the  ground  was 


300  KEELING  LETTERS 

white.  Trenches,  shell  holes,  and  mine  upheavals  had  torn 
up  the  chalk  from  below  the  surface  soil,  but  there  was 
a  solid  mass  of  scarlet  poppies  in  the  middle  of  the  picture, 
contrasting  wonderfully  with  the  white  and  grey  ground 
and  the  yellowish  background  of  an  early  twilight  sky.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  vision  of  beauty  .and  desolation  which 
I  saw  in  a  flash  that  moment. 

I  saw  a  report  that  Bethmann-Hollweg  had  endorsed  a 
speech  by  Scheidemann  in  which  the  latter  stated  that 
B.-H.  took  the  view  that  there  could  be  no  durable  peace 
if  Germany  demanded  any  territorial  aggrandizement.  If 
this  is  correct  it  is  not  unimportant.  B.-H.  certainly 
seems  to  be  seeking  support  from  the  pro-war  Socialists 
and  Liberals  against  the  extremists.  I  think  that  in  England 
there  may  be  quite  probably  a  controversy  over  peace 
comparable  with  that  over  the  Treaty  of  Utrecht.  Some 
of  our  fire-eaters  will  never  be  satisfied.  But  some  basis 
for  the  beginnings  of  a  League  of  Peace  is  as  important  as 
the  territorial  terms  of  this  particular  peace  itself. 

Rats  are  as  bad  here  as  in  any  place  I  have  stopped  in. 
They  have  innumerable  holes  all  round  my  dugout,  and  if 
one  is  sitting  quiet  and  alone  it  is  not  long  before  a  grey  or 
tawny  nose  peeps  out  from  somewhere  and  a  beady  black 
eye  fixes  one.  A  glorious  day  to-day.  One  never  suffers  from 
extreme  heat  in  underground  dugouts,  and  deep  trenches 
don't  get  much  sun  in  them.  I  think  this  has  a  lot  to  do 
with  such  uiihealthiness  as  there  is  in  trench  life.  Of 
course  aeroplanes  are  active,  as  it  is  good  flying  weather, 
and  the  anti-aircraft  shells  are  bursting  rapidly  one  after 
another  over  my  head.  The  flying  bits  have  just  driven 
my  batman  under  cover. 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     9  July,  1916. 

We  had  a  bit  of  a  concert  after  we  got  back  from  the 
line  last  night,  where  I  had  been  working  on  the  winch 
and  heaving  sand-bags  all  day.  C.  appeared  dressed  in  a 
French  suit  of  civilian  clothes,  and  one  of  the  men  did  a 
clog  dance  clad  in  a  pair  of  boots.  I  never  laughed  so  much 
in  all  my  life.  Two  young  officers  dressed  up  as  French 


MAY  13  TO  AUGUST  18,  1916  801 

ladies  and  went  round  the  place  with  C.,  to  the  amazement 
of  all  the  sentries.  I  have  got  dry  things  now  for  the  first 
time  for  four  days.  The  weather  is  very  bright  and  sunny 
now,  and  what  a  pleasure  it  is  to  be  dry  once  more  !  When 
my  grand-children  ask  me,  "  What  did  you  do  in  the  Great 
War  ?  "  I  shall  reply,  "  I  turned  a  winch  down  a  mine." 
I  never  felt  I  understood  the  soul  of  those  Belgian  dogs 
that  work  things  by  running  inside  wheels  so  completely 
before. 

Well,  your  Home  Defence  soldiers  do  not  get  the  all- 
round  experience  that  we  do.  Honestly  I  enjoy  the  manual 
labour,  and  it  is  fun  to  work  with  these  Australian  miners. 
The  weak  point  of  the  Colonial  is  the  lack  of  fine  subtlety 
of  mind  that  you  find  very  often  even  in  the  humblest 
people  in  the  old  countries.  I  believe  it  is  a  thing  which 
only  comes  as  man  becomes  thoroughly  acclimatized  to 
his  natural  environment  through  several  generations.  Some 
Americans  are  beginning  to  get  it. 

I  read  Gibbs's  dispatch  in  the  last  Chronicle  that  you 
sent  me.  It  certainly  is  good.  It  was  the  horrible  cant 
about  men  thirsting  to  go  over  the  top,  in  the  first  account 
of  the  fighting,  that  disgusted  me.  When  I  opened  Great 
Thoughts  it  really  made  me  swear  badly  for  some  considerable 
time.  The  interview  with  Lady  -  -  was  really  horrible. 
I  begin  to  feel  more  and  more  sure  that  I  shall  never  settle 
down  to  purely  sedentary  or  administrative  or  propagandist 
work  again.  I  feel  that  the  brain  and  the  hand  are  both 
the  better  for  being  worked  together,  or  rather  alternately. 
It  is  really  absurd  that  such  a  lot  of  physical  energy  should 
be  worked  off  in  sports  when  an  equal  amount  of  pleasure 
and  more  satisfaction  could  be  obtained  if  brain  workers 
got  a  chance  of  a  by-occupation  involving  manual  work. 
And  after  two  years  in  the  Army  I  have  learnt  to  forgo  the 
artificial  need  for  cultured  society  which  was  stimulated 
in  me  by  years  of  association  with  the  Intelligentzia  of 
Cambridge  and  London.  It  is  good  to  meet  a  fine  mind 
well  versed  in  the  latest  thought  of  the  world,  but  to  be 
dependent  for  one's  ordinary  social  needs  upon  an  associa- 
tion with  such  minds  implies,  I  think,  an  alienation  from 
the  ordinary  life  of  mankind.  Really  there  is  nothing 


302  KEELING  LETTERS 

narrower  than  a  Metropolitan  intellectual  set.  I  should 
like  to  combine  colonial  farming  with  some  sort  of  specialized 
sociological  study  and  public  work  as  the  main  themes  of 
my  life.  I  have  picked  up  a  lot  about  New  Zealand  from 
these  fellow*  down  the  mines,  and  I  feel  it  is  the  country 
for  me,  but  it  is  no  use  counting  one's  chickens  while 
this  business  is  still  on,  and  if  one  is  left  alive  at  the 
end  one  may  well  find  oneself  minus  a  limb  or  with  a 
broken  back. 

I  had  a  pleasant  walk  in  the  sunshine  across  the  town  to 
the  baths  this  morning.  A  few  nights  ago,  when  hurrying 
back  from  the  mine  at  midnight,  I  lost  my  way  and  wandered 
through  a  maze  of  dead,  deserted  streets,  only  coming  very 
occasionally  on  a  sentry,  or  rattling  limber-wagon.  I  should 
think  there  has  never  been  a  deserted  town  like  this  in 
history.  Wypers  is  smashed  to  bits  as  well  as  being  deserted. 
Here  *  the  pulverization  has  not  gone  nearly  so  far  and  the 
place  is  much  bigger,  but  the  ruins  of  the  classic  cathedral 
look  almost  Cyclopean.  The  fallen  stones  are  enormous, 
and  over  a  great  heap  of  them  which  blocks  the  road  a 
regular  track  has  been  worn  by  passers-by,  who  climb  over 
them  rather  than  walk  three  hundred  yards  round.  I  think 
it  is  wonderful  of  the  French  to  have  made  this  fresh  attack 
after  all  the  battering  they  have  had  at  Verdun.  Is  there 
no  hope  that  Germany  will  recognize  the  inevitable  now  ? 
No  one  expects  to  crush  her  utterly.  I  suppose  we  shall 
advance  at  Salonica  as  soon  as  these  treacherous  Greeks 
have  had  their  teeth  drawn  by  demobilization,  and  as  soon 
as  we  can  finish  the  East  African  business  a  good  part  of 
these  troops  will  be  available  for  Mesopotamia  or  elsewhere^ 
but  the  limits  of  possible  terms  of  peace  must  be  becoming 
clearer  now  to  the  people  in  power  in  every  country.  There 
will  come  a  point  when  only  journalistic  cut-throats  and 
military  fanatics  will  want  to  secure  infinitesimal  gains 
through  a  prolongation  of  the  slaughter,  but  I  think,  as  I 
said  before,  that  we  should  be  prepared  for  a  Treaty  of 
Utrecht  intervening. 

*  Albert. 


MAY  13  TO  AUGUST  18,   1916  303 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.    14  July,  1916. 

I  have  just  finished  Fremaux's  "  Derniere  Jours  de 
1'Empereur,"  which  you  sent  me  some  time  ago.  What 
a  swine  Hudson  Lowe  was  and  what  a  thousand  pities 
Napoleon  did  not  know  when  to  stop  !  But  I  agree  with 
Herbert  Fisher  that  he  certainly  did  not  know.  You  could 
not  regard  his  progress  as  a  triumph  in  the  essentials  of 
human  progress.  A  French  tyranny  might  have  been  less 
brutal  than  a  Prussian  or  Russian  tyranny,  but  Voltaire 
reminds  us  what  a  French  tyranny  could  be  like.  It  is 
interesting  to  know  what  a  favourite  of  Napoleon's  Voltaire 
was.  Napoleon's  attitude  towards  religion  on  his  death- 
bed is  curious,  and  I  think  instructive.  He  feels  the  need 
of  traditional  ceremonial  forms,  but  obviously  he  is  not  in 
any  sense  a  believer.  This,  I  think,  goes  down  to  the  root 
of  things,  and  foreshadows  what  the  world  will  come  back 
to.  Primitive  religions  were  essentially  ritual  and  not 
belief — ritual  can  unite  us ;  speculation  must  divide  us. 
We  shall  end  up  uncommonly  near  where  the  South  Sea 
Islanders  are — some  few  generations  after  the  Christians 
have  extirpated  the  last  remnants  of  paganism  in  Polynesia. 
I  have  often  been  tempted  to  become  a  Freemason  in  the 
hope  of  finding  forms  which  would  express  the  essentials 
of  religion,  and  which  would  get  one  away  from  the  con- 
nection between  public  religion  and  speculation  which  now 
rules.  Public  religion  and  private  religion  are  two  entirely 
distinct,  though  indirectly  connected,  things ;  theology, 
philosophy,  and  speculation  should  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  former.  There  are  two  types  of  people,  one  of 
whom  would  find  that  what  I  call  public  or  social  religion 
in  the  end  gives  a  greater  satisfaction  to  their  innermost 
spiritual  needs  than  any  private  mystical  or  theological 
belief.  Napoleon's  final  external  submission  to  the  Catholic 
rites  shows  that  he  was  one  of  this  sort.  The  other  type  is 
much  less  common,  though  the  Christian  Churches  try  to 
make  every  one  conform  to  it,  with  the  result  that  hypocrisy, 
superstition,  and  religiosity  are  rampant.  It  is  the  type 
of  person  who  really  has  a  gift  for  transcendental  cults  or 


804  KEELING  LETTERS 

personal  religion.  If  a  person  has  not  the  gift  of  what  I 
call  private  religion  he  should  not  be  expected  to  go  in  for 
it.  It  should  be  regarded  as  a  cult,  good  for  some  but  not 
for  all.  Public  religion  is  good  for  every  one,  and  the  early 
Christians  were  rightly  detested  for  objecting  to  sacrifice 
to  the  Emperor,  though  it  is  unfortunate  that  they  were 
persecuted  for  their  anti-social  conduct.  They  were  on  the 
whole  the  same  objectionable  sort  of  people  as  the  conscien- 
tious objectors  of  to-day,  including,  like  these,  a  few  very 
good  people.  I  regret  to  have  to  report  that  I  was  at  one 
stage  of  my  career  uncommonly  like  an  early  Christian,  but 
I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  revert. 

Fritz  gave  us  a  dose  of  whizz-bangs  and  shrapnel  this 
morning,  but  did  no  damage  to  any  individual.  It  is  getting 
dark  and  near  the  single  hour  during  which  we  are  free  to 
leave  our  billets  without  being  on  duty.  It  is  rather  a 
precious  hour  of  liberty  in  this  hole,  but  monotony  is  better 
than  being  in  the  thick  of  the  hottest  fighting  now.  There 
is  more  good  news  in  to-day's  French  paper.  We  seem  to 
be  steadily  widening  the  salient  which  we  and  the  French 
have  made.  The  woods  and  fortified  villages — -which 
really  means  villages  with  deep  underground  dugouts — 
seem  to  be  the  difficult  points  in  this  advance,  but  I  know 
little  more  than  you  do  about  how  things  really  stand — no 
more,  actually.  I  wonder  if  German  munition  production 
is  growing  in  anything  like  the  same  ratio  as  ours.  If  so, 
God  help  the  poor  devils  of  infantrymen  on  both  sides  in 
the  end  ! 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     16  July,  1916. 

I  have  been  reading  the  Fortnightly  you  sent  to-day. 
Dillon  seems  to  be  getting  vapid,  and  I  think  it  is  extra- 
ordinary that  no  one  seems  to  consider  how  we  are  going 
both  to  beat  Germany  sufficiently,  and  having  done  so, 
give  her  a  chance  of  living  a  reasonable  national  life  in  the 
world,  without  being  a  continual  nuisance  to  every  one  else. 
Anything  like  an  economic  boycott  is  obviously  nonsense, 
though  I  have  no  Free  Trade  principles  personally  and  have 
no  objection  to  preserving  the  national  character  of  any 


MAY  13  TO  AUGUST  18,   1916  305 

particular  industry,  if  there  is  a  justifiable  case  for  doing 
so,  by  State  interference.  But  bounties  are  obviously 
far  preferable  to  tariffs  if  you  are  going  to  protect.  The 
New  Statesman's  exposure  of  Bonar  Law's  silly  attempt 
to  deal  with  the  West  African  palm-oil  trade  was  very  good. 

I  have  been  looking  over  a  map  this  afternoon  at  all  the 
places  where  I  have  been.  They  would  make  a  good  long 
list  in  three  French  departments  and  in  Belgium.  Most 
men  out  here  swear  they  will  never  set  foot  in  the  country 
again,  but  I  think  a  good  many,  like  myself,  will  if  they  get 
a  chance.  With  all  its  unpleasant  associations  this  tract 
of  country  has  become  a  kind  of  second  homeland  for 
one,  albeit  one's  home  has  often  been  no  more  than  the 
waterproof  sheet  one  carries  on  one's  back.  Last  night 
I  saw  a  great  golden  flaming  moon  behind  the  ruins  at  the 
end  of  the  street  along  which  I  was  walking.  A  sort  of 
sentimental  scene,  I  thought,  to  delight  the  soul  of  a  German 
and  make  a  very  pleasant  Munich  lithograph.  Poor  old 
Miinchen  and  Wien  !  I  have  a  very  deep-rooted  affection 
for  them  still.  They  did  not  make  this  war,  and  I  think 
they  will  both  be  only  too  glad  to  see  the  Englishman  back 
in  their  streets. 

I  received  Margoliouth's  "  Mohammedanism  "  last  night 
and  have  read  nearly  all  of  it  to-day.  It  confirms  what  I 
wrote  about  Mohammed's  views.  In  fact,  I  feel  that  what 
we  are  accustomed  to  associate  with  Mohammedanism  prob- 
ably represents  Mohammed  even  less  than  what  we  associate 
with  Christianity  represents  Christ.  Margoliouth  is  very 
emphatic  about  the  fact  that  the  veil,  the  denial  of  souls 
to  women,  and  the  tenets  of  an  extreme  fatalism  are  none 
of  them  apparently  derived  from  the  teachings  of  the 
Prophet,  and  it  seems  rather  far-fetched  to  suppose  that 
Mohammed  taught  that  there  was  a  special  class  of  feminine 
creatures — houris,  to  wit — who  were  to  share  the  immortal 
pleasures  of  men,  but  who  were  not  the  women  who  shared 
their  mortal  pleasures  on  earth.  Obviously  most  men,  or 
at  any  rate  a  good  many  men,  would  prefer  to  have  their 
earthly  women  re-endowed  in  Paradise  with  the  immortal 
youth  which  the  Prophet  promises  to  the  faithful  male, 
rather  than  have  the  most  perfect  Paradise  houris  allotted 

21 


306  KEELING  LETTERS 

to  them.  I  am  sure  that  the  Prophet  would  realize  the 
force  of  this  point,  and  until  I  have  discovered  the  pas- 
sage which  contradicts  my  view  I  shall  not  believe  that  he 
taught  this. 

We  are  going  up  to  the  front-line  trenches  again  to- 
morrow to  the  region  of  trench  mortars  and  mines.  I 
think  the  trenches  become  more  distasteful  each  time  one 
goes  up.  I  certainly  get  more  nervous,  but  even  this  is 
better  than  being  in  the  thick  of  it  down  there,  nerve- 
racking  as  it  is  here. 

One  of  the  things  I  hope  to  do  if  I  survive  the  war  is  to 
make  up  in  some  degree  for  the  appalling  lack  of  science 
in  my  education  I  think  classical  education  is  the  utmost 
nonsense.  People  with  a  gift  for  ancient  languages  can  take 
them  up  at  the  age  of  nineteen  or  twenty,  as  Jane  Harrison 
did.  I  had  a  very  poor  literary  sense  as  a  boy  and  the 
Classics  did  me  no  earthly  good,  though  I  did  appreciate 
Roman  and  Greek  History. 

How  I  long  for  the  end  of  all  this  murderous  business ! 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     22  July,  1916. 

I  have  read  Pease's  "  History  of  the  Fabian  Society  " 
all  through  to-day  in  the  thunder  of  a  terrific  bombardment, 
interrupted  in  my  absorption  of  the  reading  only  by  meals, 
by  a  few  items  of  company  work,  and  coming  out  to  see  a 
poor  devil  in  my  company  who  came  past  my  dugout  half 
blinded  and  almost  speechless  from  shell-shock,  due  to  the 
explosion  of  a  huge  trench-mortar  bomb  very  near  him. 
There  is,  of  course,  much  personal  as  well  as  general  interest 
in  the  book  for  me.  I  have  led  an  erratic  life  since  I 
left  Cambridge,  but  there  are  threads  of  continuity  in  it, 
and  it  is  continuity  which  I  find  myself  seeking  more  and 
more  in  life,  and  that  has  brought  me  gradually  more  and 
more  back  to  Colchester  with  its  old  associations.  It  is 
the  only  bit  of  England  that  I  really  can  look  on  as  home. 
Pease  has  taken  me  back  to  the  world  of  peace-time,  its 
varied  interests  and  all  the  rich  stream  of  life.  Whether 
I  am  to  enjoy  it  again  or  not  is  on  the  knees  of  the  gods. 
I  can  face  death,  though  not  the  circumstances  of  death, 


MAY  13  TO  AUGUST  18,  1916  307 

out  here  with  equanimity,  but  the  deep  longing  for  the 
normal  things  of  life  is  strong  in  me  to-day.  When  I  think 
of  the  millions  of  lighting  men  who  feel  in  all  their  various 
ways  the  same  longing  as  I  do,  it  seems  inconceivable  that 
war  will  ever  occur  again  ;  but  how  soon  mankind  forgets  ! 
I  heard  a  couple  of  days  ago  that  Lloyd  has  been  lucky 
enough  to  be  wounded  slightly.  The  gold  braid  for  the 
wounded  is  not  at  all  popular  out  here,  where  everyone 
regards  any  wound,  except  a  serious  one,  as  a  stroke  of 
luck.  What  would  have  been  popular  is  a  trench  medal, 
distinguishing  the  men  who  have  been  under  fire,  for  say  a 
hundred  days,  from  the  Staff  job  men. 

To  Edward  R.  Pease. 

6TH  D.C.L.I.,  B.E.F. 

27  July,  1916. 

I  have  read  your  book  "  History  of  the  Fabian  Society  " 
with  great  interest — in  a  dugout  under  the  chalk  amidst 
the  rumble  of  big  bombardments  a  few  miles  away  and  the 
occasional  crash  of  unpleasant  things  near  by.  It  has 
touched  my  conscience  about  my  subscription  to  the  Fabian 
Society.  Frankly,  my  interest  in  the  Society  lapsed  in 
recent  years  mainly  because  it  seemed  dominated  by  the 
Guild  Socialist  and  feminist  elements,  to  which  I  had  an 
antipathy  more  personal  than  as  a  matter  of  principle.  My 
views  are  much  the  same  in  fundamentals  as  they  have  been 
for  the  last  ten  years,  except  that  I  am  prepared  openly 
to  support  and  work  with  the  Liberal  Party  in  particular 
circumstances.  I  send  you  a  subscription  of  30  francs, 
which  you  can  change  at  any  P.O.,  I  believe.  I  should  like 
to  have  the  last  dozen  numbers  of  Fabian  News  to  bring 
me  into  touch  with  recent  doings  of  the  Society. 

About  the  only  point  where  I  disagree  with  you  in  your 
book  is  on  the  compensation  question.  I  do  think  your 
footnote  is  a  quibble,  and  1  think  you  contradict  yourself 
elsewhere.  But  it  is  a  minor  matter. 

I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  with  myself  after  the  war  ; 
but  I  shall  always  remain  a  Fabian  or  something  like  it  in 
political  outlook.  Of  that  I  feel  tolerably  certain.  I  am 
about  as  fed-up  as  I  can  be — over  fourteen  months  out  here 


308  KEELING  LETTERS 

now.  Churchill's  speeches  are  very  good.  He  criticizes 
in  exactly  the  right  way  and  selects  the  points  which  most 
need  emphasizing. 


To  Mrs.  Green. 

B.E.F.     28  July,  1916. 

We  have  marched  five  miles  from  the  trenches  this  even- 
ing, and  are  billeted  in  a  sugar  factory.  It  is  the  first 
time  I  have  walked  along  a  country  road  by  daylight  for 
months.  It  has  been  a  delightful  summer  day,  and  in  spite 
of  the  heavy  packs  and  rather  sore  feet,  owing  to  my  being 
badly  trancheed,  I  enjoyed  the  walk.  The  country  is 
delightful  just  here,  though  for  most  of  the  way  one  side 
of  the  road  was  barred  by  rope  welting  ten  feet  high  to 
prevent  observation. 

Your  large  parcel  of  socks  arrived  last  night.  Please 
thank  whoever  has  helped  you  with  them.  They  will  be 
invaluable  for  my  men  on  our  march.  Of  course  I  have  not 
the  remotest  idea  where  we  are  going  and  don't  worry 
much  about  it — Kismet.  I  think  after  a  certain  stage  of 
fed-upness  one  does  cease  to  worry.  I  have  been  again 
reading  a  good  deal  of  the  agriculture  book.  But  I  can't 
tackle  "  Mitteleuropa  "  just  now  while  we  are  on  the 
move.  I  could  do  with  Carpenter,  though,  and  later  on 
the  Butler  book. 

Churchill's  speech  was  very  good.  I  have  just  read  the 
full  report  in  the  Times.  His  criticisms  on  organization 
are  exactly  what  we  all  think  out  here,  and  George  is  evi- 
dently prepared  to  go  in  for  them  thoroughly.  Well,  the 
most  satisfying  reflection  of  all  is  that  the  "Bodies"  must 
at  least  be  as  fed-up  as  oneself.  I  am  very  sorry  that 
Grey  has  gone  to  the  Lords.  He  is  a  great  Englishman 
and  has  the  confidence  of  the  country  more,  I  believe,  than 
any  other  man.  One  liked  to  think  of  him  as  a  commoner. 
Shaw's  repeated  attacks  on  Grey  have  always  seemed  to 
me  inconsistent  with  his  generally  sound  outlook  on  things. 
Good-night.  We  have  a  fairly  long  march  to-morrow. 
I  don't  care  a  bit  if  we  do  go  over  the  top.  I  can  take  my 
chance  with  the  rest. 


MAY  13  TO  AUGUST  18,   1916  309 

To  the  Same. 

B.E.F.     8  August,  1916. 

We  had  a  good  deal  of  marching  and  train  journey 
yesterday.  Slept  under  a  bit  of  sacking  propped  up  on 
shell  boxes  last  night.  Got  a  rest  and  a  bath  to-day. 
Feel  a  bit  tired  and  fed-up  mentally,  keener  on  reading 
and  absorbing  than  on  thinking.  Cornfields  on  rolling 
ridges  surround  our  camp.  Just  now  it  is  pretty  peaceful, 
but  the  crash  of  a  big  gun  near  by  occasionally  disturbs 
one,  and  there  have  been  some  pretty  devilish  bombard- 
ments a  few  miles  away. 

I  got  the  books  "  South  America  "  and  "  Buried  Alive  " 
to-night.  I  had  read  "  Buried  Alive  "  and  seen  the  play, 
but  it  bears  skimming  through  again — a  real  vision  of  the 
kindly  sensibleness  of  the  English  people.  Alice  is  delicious. 
What  a  real  grasp  of  life  !  Have  read  some  of  the  agriculture 
book  with  much  pleasure.  I  used  to  take  the  ordinary 
democratic,  bureaucratic  view  against  technical  education, 
but  I  am  not  sure  that  the  best  way  of  imparting  science  for 
the  great  mass  of  people  is  not  in  connection  with  its  appli- 
cations. That  brings  it  nearer  life,  and  after  all  the  whole 
difference  between  knowledge  and  mere  information  lies 
in  the  completeness  of  their  absorption  in  the  daily  mental 
life  of  the  learner. 

Mrs.  Besant  is  illuminating  on  India,  but  I  suspect  her 
facts  all  through.  She  has  all  the  vices  of  the  propagandist 
mind — that  is  no  doubt  why  she  is  a  Theosophist,  and  made 
such  ridiculous  prophecies  in  Fabian  Essays.  I  distrust 
these  people  who  formulate  too  easily.  I  have  just  heard 
that  the  man  I  enlisted  with  was  killed  a  fortnight  ago. 
He  took  a  commission  a  month  after  he  enlisted  along 
with  us  six  Oxford  and  Cambridge  men.  At  least  one  other 
of  them  was  killed  some  months  ago.  One  seems  uncom- 
monly near  the  dead  nowadays  in  the  course  of  our  tight- 
rope dance,  in  which  a  certain  proportion  are  always  falling 
over  into  the  abyss.  I  chink  I  grow  more  and  more  desirous 
of  life,  but  obviously  dying  cannot  be  very  difficult  or 
dreadful — so  many  people  manage  to  accomplish  it.  How 
I  long  for  home  again  !  But  peace  seems  too  good  to  be 
ever  going  to  be  true. 


310  KEELING  LETTERS 

To  Mrs.  Townsheiid. 

12  August,  1916. 

.  .  .  Thank  you  very  much  for  the  Carpenter  book.  I 
enjoyed  it  immensely.  Read  it  in  an  awful  heat,  lying 
under  a  bit  of  sacking,  in  less  than  twenty-four  hours.  I 
have  always  felt  I  understood  Carpenter  pretty  thoroughly, 
and  he  has  influenced  me  much. 

F.  is  damned  lucky,  but  I  do  think  it  is  wrong  that  people 
like  him  should  not  take  their  turn  at  the  Front.  The 
strain  falls  too  much  on  the  war-worn  soldier. 


To  Mrs.  Green. 

B.E.F.     14  August,  1916. 

A  chance  to  get  off  a  letter  to-day.  Thank  you  very 
much  for  letters  and  parcel  received.  I  got  a  good  sleep 
in  an  old  German  dugout  last  night,  but  the  night  before 
was  half  in  and  half  out  of  a  hole  in  the  chalk  at  the  side  of 
the  trench.  You  might  always  put  a  candle  in  parcels. 
Sometimes  they  are  plentiful  and  we  can  buy  them  easily, 
but  when  one  wants  them  most  they  seem  to  be  scarcest. 

Don't  be  surprised  if  you  don't  hear  from  me  for  some 
days,  though  I  will  try  to  send  field  postcards.  I  will 
leave  one  ready  written  for  each  day  with  my  Q.M.S.,  who 
will  probably  get  to  hear  each  night  if  I  am  all  right.  But 
even  this  arrangement  easily  may  go  wrong. 

I  have  been  pretty  busy  of  late  and  also  rather  tired  till 
to-day,  as  we  have  had  parades  at  3.30  a.m.  on  two  succes- 
sive days.  But  we  have  had  good  chances  of  bathing 
which  has  been  pleasant  in  the  heat. 

I  am  rather  sick  at  Trinity's  treatment  of  Bertie  Russell. 
As  far  as  I  can  see  the  facts,  I  do  not  understand  why  the 
Quakers  should  have  a  vested  interest  in  tolerance. 

I  can't  help  feeling  rather  disturbed  at  the  return  to  power 
of  these  pro-German  reactionaries  in  Russia.  I  don't 
understand  the  forces  really  at  work  there,  only  I  am 
sure  that  Stephen  Graham's  accounts  of  the  peasants  and 
Russian  religion  are  all  nonsense. 

Flies  are  a  bit  bad  here  and  have  begun  to  get  a  taste  of 


MAY   13  TO  AUGUST  18,   1916  311 

the  familiar  smell  of  dead  men  again.  But  have  nothing 
very  bad  as  yet. 

What  a  blessed  and  comforting  doctrine  the  idea  of  fate 
is  !  It  does  somehow  enter  into  the  soul  of  the  soldier. 
I  see  no  one  around  worrying  about  going  into  battle. 

Well,  good-bye.  Peaceful  Colchester  seems  in  another 
world  now. 

To  Mrs.  Toivnshcnd.1 

12  August,  1916. 

I  may  be  knocked  out  in  the  next  few  days.  If  so, 
this  is  just  a  last  line  to  you,  dear.  I  don't  anticipate 
death,  but  it  is  all  bloody  chance  out  here. 

If  there  is  any  sort  of  survival  of  consciousness,  death 
can  hardly  fail  to  be  interesting,  and  if  there  is  anything 
doing  on  the  other  side,  I  will  stir  something  up. 

Nirvana  be  damned  !     Love  from  Ben. 

1  This  letter  was  the  intimation  I  received  of  his  death,  which 
took  place  on  the  i8th  August,  1916. — E.  T. 


APPENDIX    I 

LETTERS    FROM    OFFICERS    OF    THE    D.C.L.I.    WITH 
REFERENCE  TO  REELING'S  DEATH 

DEAR  MADAM, 

Lieutenant  Barrington-Ward  has  handed  to  me  your 
letter  and  cuttings  of  the  local  papers'  reference  to  Sergeant- 
Major  Keeling.  Seeing  that  you  were  one  of  his  oldest  friends, 
I  should  like  to  tell  you  how  every  officer  and  man  in  the 
battalion  felt  his  loss.  Perhaps  his  two  years  in  the  Army 
were  the  happiest  and  most  useful  that  he  spent.  From  the 
moment  he  joined  with  two  thousand  or  more  other  men,  his 
influence  and  brilliance  were  felt  throughout  the  battalion.  He 
was  an  immense  factor  for  good  among  the  non-commissioned 
ranks,  and  a  link  between  officers  and  them.  I  three  times 
asked  him  to  take  a  commission,  but  he  always  replied  he 
thought  he  was  doing  more  useful  work  where  he  was.  I  have 
no  hesitation  in  saying  he  was  one  of  the  bravest  men  I  have 
ever  seen,  and  he  died  leading  a  desperate  bombing  attack  at 
a  most  critical  moment. 

You  will  find  a  memoir  of  him  in  the  coming  edition  of  the 
Red  Feather,1  and  a  poem  by  Barrington-Ward  which  he  will 
send  you. 

If  Reeling's  diary  is  ever  published,  I  hope  whoever  edits  it 
will  put  in  the  tribute  we  have  paid  him  in  the  Red  Feather. 

He  was  an  awful  loss  to  the  battalion  and  me. 

With  sincere  sympathy, 

I  am, 

Yours  very  truly, 

T.  R.  STOKOE, 
Lt.-Colonel,  6th  D.C.L.I. 

1  The  publication  of  this  issue  was  stopped,  and  the  transmission 
of  the  material  for  it  prevented,  by  the  Censor. 

313 


314  KEELING  LETTERS 

6TH  D.C.L.I.,  B.E.F., 

30  August,  1916. 

You  will,  I  expect,  have  learnt  by  this  time  that  Keeling  has 
been  killed  in  action.  All  of  us  in  the  regiment  arc  most  awfully 
distressed  about  it.  Though  many  good  fellows  went  on  the 
day  of  the  battle  (18  August),  none  left  behind  him  more  wide- 
spread regrets. 

He  was  killed  out  along  a  German  trench  up  which  our  bombers 
were  working.  I  understand  that  there  was  a  risk  of  our 
bombers  bombing  our  own  men  in  this  trench.  Keeling  jumped 
up  on  the  parapet  to  make  sure  that  the  Germans  were  ahead, 
and  he  was  caught  by  a  bullet  and  died  at  once.  The  officer 
with  the  party  took  his  papers  off  him. 

It  is  a  very  sad  business.  He  did  magnificently  in  the  fight, 
and  the  party  he  was  leading  did  particularly  valiant  work, 
protecting  at  a  ticklish  moment  our  own  flank  and  the  flank  of 
the  battalion  on  our  right.  We  were  unable  to  hold,  at  the 
time,  the  position  we  had  taken,  and  the  vigorous  bombing 
offensive  which  Keeling's  party  undertook  saved  us  and  ensured 
the  success  of  the  battalion  on  our  right. 

I  need  not  expound  Keeling's  merits  to  you.  I  think,  how- 
ever, you  may  be  interested  to  know  how  he  was  appreciated 
as  a  soldier  by  the  rest  of  us. 

He  was  always  a  great  disciplinarian  and  certainly  began  as 
a  somewhat  unpopular  N.C.O.  His  keenness  and  efficiency  and 
military  attention  to  detail  did  not  conciliate  the  enemies  he 
had  at  first — enemies  because  as  a  (forgive  the  word)  "  gentle- 
man "-soldier  he  was  suspect,  suspect  also  because  he  knew 
German  !  This  was  in  the  earliest  days.  As  time  wore  on 
Keeling's  extraordinary  kindness  to  the  men  (coupled  often 
with  most  horrific  language !)  and  his  unfailing  energy  in 
securing  their  comfort  and  seeing  that  they  got  their  due,  also 
his  keenness  on  the  regiment  and  everything  regimental- 
sports  cross-country,  etc. — gave  him  a  very  different  place  in 
the  eyes  of  the  men.  It  was  thanks  to  Keeling  and  this  strong 
regimental  spirit  that  the  Red  Feather — our  best  regimental 
effort — had  such  a  great  and  continued  success.  He  became 
an  institution  and  (I  am  not  exaggerating)  a  regular  pillar  of 
the  battalion,  whose  absence  at  any  time  was  strongly  notice- 
able. This  is  a  rare  thing  to  say  of  any  one  in  a  battalion.  We 
shall  be  hard  put  to  it  to  rearrange  ourselves  without  him. 

He  became  sergeant-major  of  the  Grenadier  Company — a  fifth 
and  officially  unrecognized  organization  which  drew,  as  such 


APPENDIX  I  815 

things  always  will,  a  good  deal  of  enmity  from  the  four  "  estab- 
lished "  companies,  and  needed,  in  consequence,  extra  energy 
and  watchfulness  in  administration.  Keeling  was  always 
anxious  to  have  his  bombers  thus  separate  in  the  interests  of 
their  efficiency,  and  he  undertook  to  make  a  success  of  it. 
This  he  most  certainly  did.  He  was  always  a  shield  and  buckler 
to  "  the  bombers "  in  real  or  fancied  slights  and  injustices, 
indefatigable  in  looking  after  them  and  in  seeing  that  he  got 
the  right  men.  As  a  consequence  he  had  them  all  in  the  hollow 
of  his  hand.  The  pains  he  took  reaped  for  us  a  rich  result  in 
the  splendid  way  the  bombers  fought  the  other  day — Sergeant- 
Major  Keeling  at  their  head. 

All  of  us  who  knew  him — and  that  includes  all  the  brigade 
and  a  large  part,  in  fact,  of  the  Division — keenly  hoped  he 
might  come  through  all  right.  I  like  to  think  at  all  events 
that  he  was  killed  well  ahead  of  the  line  out  in  the  enemy 
trenches  and  among  his  own  men.  I  feel  sure  he  would  have 
wished  for  no  other  end. 

The  Red  Feather  is  especially  closely  connected  with  Keeling. 
He  and  I  were  projecting  another  number  shortly,  and  I  should 
like  to  complete  one  in  a  week  or  two. 

The  magazine  becomes  two  things  now — a  history  of  the 
doings  and  the  moods  of  the  regiment,  and  now,  in  addition,  a 
memorial  to  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  in  the  Army. 

Yours  sincerely, 

(Signed)        R.  BARRINGTON-WARD, 
Captain. 


APPENDIX    II 

FREDERIC    KEELING    AS    A    STUDENT    OF    SOCIAL 

PROBLEMS 

BY  ARTHUR  GREENWOOD 

IT  was  our  common  interest  in  social  problems  that  first 
brought  me  into  contact  with  Keeling,  and  to  that  side  of  his 
life  I  shall  confine  my  attention  in  this  brief  and  quite  inadequate 
sketch  of  his  work.  When  he  left  Cambridge  he  went  to  live 
in  South  London,  where  he  threw  himself  with  characteristic 
thoroughness  and  enthusiasm  into  social  work  of  various  kinds, 
among  others  that  of  organizing  meals  for  school-children. 
This  was  the  beginning  of  his  special  interest  in  juvenile  labour. 
On  the  passage  of  the  Labour  Exchanges  Act,  he  became 
secretary  of  a  Board  of  Trade  Committee  which  drafted  the 
rules  and  organization  of  the  Exchanges.  When  they  were 
inaugurated  Mr.  Winston  Churchill  offered  him  a  post  as  Labour 
Exchange  Manager.  His  youth  was  against  his  appointment 
as  a  Divisional  Officer,  but  Mr.  Churchill  allowed  him  to  choose 
his  Exchange.  Keeling,  who  had  up  to  that  time  no  knowledge 
of  the  industrial  North,  decided  to  come  to  Leeds.  The  choice 
was  more  or  less  accidental.  He  had  never  seen  the  city  ;  he 
knew  nothing  about  it,  except  that  it  was  a  large  manufacturing 
town,  offering  opportunities  for  a  close  study  of  industrial 
problems.  In  the  meantime,  he  had  written  a  small  volume 
on  "  The  Labour  Exchange  in  relation  to  Boy  and  Girl  Labour,"  l 
dedicated  to  his  friend  Ashley  Dukes.  It  bears  many  marks  of 
Keeling's  individuality.  In  the  Preface  he  complains  of  the 
incomplete  character  of  the  library  of  the  Board  of  Education. 
He  always  wanted  to  read  literally  everything  that  had  been 
published  bearing  on  the  subject  he  happened  to  be  studying. 
"  Local  Authorities,"  he  wrote,  "  do  not  respond  to  the  appeals 
of  the  Board  [of  Education]  to  forward  copies  of  all  their  printed 
matter.  It  seems  more  desirable  in  the  interest  of  the  study 
of  educational  administration  that  some  sort  of  compulsory 

1  P.  S.  King  and  Son,  1910,  6d.  net. 

316 


APPENDIX  II  317 

powers  should  be  conferred  upon  the  Central  Authority  in  this 
matter."  These  sentences  are  characteristic  of  his  interests 
and  point  of  view  at  this  time.  Administrative  problems 
attracted  him  very  strongly,  and  when  afterwards  we  devised 
social  reforms  we  always  considered  the  problem  of  administra- 
tion as  an  integral  part  of  our  schemes.  The  volume  on 
Juvenile  Labour  Exchanges,  small  though  it  is,  represented  a 
large  amount  of  work,  as  is  clear  from  the  footnotes.  During 
the  first  period  of  his  residence  in  Leeds  he  was  absorbed  in 
the  working  of  a  new  institution.  Its  problems  fascinated 
him  ;  and  he  gave  his  mind,  not  only  to  running  his  own 
Exchange,  but  to  the  larger  questions  of  divisional  administra- 
tion— the  Divisional  Office  at  that  time  being  in  Leeds. 

On  coming  to  Leeds,  he  put  himself  in  touch  with  me  at  the 
suggestion  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sidney  Webb.  For  some  time  he 
lived  in  two  or  three  rooms  on  the  top  floor  of  the  building 
in  which  the  Labour  Exchange  was  housed.  The  furnishings 
were  of  the  simplest  and  the  floors  uncovered.  I  well  remember 
that  we  first  met  in  these  rooms,  where  he  had  invited  me  to 
lunch  off  "  doggers  " — the  hard  biscuits  he  was  fond  of — walnuts, 
and  tea  made  from  water  which  had  been  warmed  but  never 
boiled.  We  talked  about  the  Labour  Exchanges  and  juvenile 
labour,  and  became  friends  from  the  first.  From  that  time 
onward,  so  long  as  he  remained  in  Leeds,  we  were  in  daily 
touch,  working  together  on  the  problems  in  which  we  were 
both  interested.  He  later  left  his  rooms  above  the  Exchange, 
and  took  a  house  on  the  outskirts  of  Leeds,  in  order,  he  said, 
to  be  near  me.  He  lived  but  a  few  minutes'  walk  away  ;  and 
when  he  was  seized  with  a  new  idea,  or  had  discovered  a  new 
source  of  information,  or  had  a  problem  to  discuss,  he  would 
tear  across,  leaving  the  door  of  his  house,  in  which  he  lived 
alone,  wide  open,  regardless  of  weather  or  the  time.  Though 
his  rooms  were  invariably  in  a  state  of  confusion,  he  was 
methodical  in  his  work.  Before  beginning  work  on  any  particular 
problem,  we  used  to  prepare  an  elaborate  outline — which  I 
often  thought  to  be  unnecessary,  as  frequently  we  had  to  depart 
from  it — and  he  insisted  on  our  notes  being  prepared  on  a 
common  plan.  He  was  a  born  researcher,  with  a  passion  for 
thoroughness  and  accuracy,  a  great  power  of  handling  large 
masses  of  information,  and  an  unerring  instinct  for  essentials. 

At  times  Keeling  found  his  position  as  a  civil  servant  some- 
what irksome.  He  occasionally  contributed  anonymously  to 
such  papers  as  the  Crusade,  and  wrote  regularly  on  juvenile 
labour  questions  for  the  School  Child  under  the  nom  de  plume 


318  KEELING  LETTERS 

"  Accelerans."  He  always  enjoyed  this  part  of  his  work,  which 
he  took  very  seriously,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  paper  was 
not  widely  known.  There  was  always  a  strong  desire  to  do 
something  more  ambitious,  and  very  early  during  our  friend- 
ship we  had,  with  all  the  light-heartedness  of  youth,  decided  on 
a  great  work  on  adolescence,  which,  as  might  perhaps  be  expected, 
was  never  written.  We  made  masses  of  notes,  from  books, 
pamphlets,  articles  and  official  publications.  We  concerned  our- 
selves with  practical  problems  and  evolved  a  scheme  of  schools 
for  unemployed  juveniles,  outlined  in  a  small  volume  which 
I  wrote,1  and  also  dealt  with  in  a  paper  I  read  at  the  National 
Conference  on  the  Prevention  of  Destitution  in  London  in  1911.* 
Later  Keeling  elaborated  a  method  of  dealing  with  "  blind-alley  " 
labour  which  is  worth  mention.  "  The  State  should  schedule  the 
well-known  blind-alley  occupations  and  processes,  just  as  we 
schedule  dangerous  trades  under  the  Factory  Act.  In  every  urban 
district  a  Juvenile  Labour  Authority  should  be  established. 
.  .  .  There  would  be  no  attempt  to  prohibit  blind-alley  occupa- 
tions. But  if  an  employer  wanted  to  engage  a  boy  as  an  errand- 
boy  or  as  a  doffer,  he  would  have  to  engage  him  from  the  Corps 
or  Guild  of  boys  organized  by  the  Local  Juvenile  Labour 
Authority,  just  as,  if  you  want  a  boy  to  take  a  message  for  you 
in  London,  you  apply  to  the  District  Messenger  Company.  Boys 
engaged  in  the  scheduled  trades  would  receive  wages  continually, 
whether  working  or  not,  from  the  Commission  Authority.  They 
would  be,  in  fact,  hired  out  by  the  Commission  at  rates  which 
would  be  high  enough  to  provide  a  continuous  remuneration 
for  the  whole  Corps.  Part-time  education  would  have  a  natural 
place  in  the  scheme,  and  every  boy  would,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
be  sent  to  a  holiday  camp  in  the  country  for  a  fortnight  in  the 
summer.  There  would  be  nothing  to  prevent  an  employer 
from  selecting  and  keeping  a  particular  boy  if  he  chose  to  do 
so,  provided  that  he  would  have  to  be  content  with  a  substitute 
while  his  regular  boy  was  attending  continuation  classes.  The 
cost  of  accommodation  for  continuation  classes  would  be  mini- 
mized by  arranging  that  a  certain  proportion  of  the  workers 
should  always  be  at  school,  and  the  provision  of  teachers  would 
thus  be  simplified.  The  Corps  would  supply  boys  for  casual 
as  well  as  permanent  jobs.  It  could  easily  take  over  the  part- 

1  "  Juvenile  Labour  Exchanges  and  After  Care"  (King  and  Son, 
1911,  is.  net,  pp.  95-8). 

1  Report  of  National  Conference  on  the  Prevention  of  Destitution 
(P.  S.  King  and  Son,  1911,  pp.  281  tf.). 


APPENDIX  II  319 

time  work  now  performed  out  of  school  hours  by  school-children. 
Whatever  views  we  may  have  as  to  the  Boy  Scouts,  we  could 
at  least  take  a  few  hints  from  their  methods  of  organization 
and  of  appealing  to  boys'  instincts.  The  outdoor  boy-workers 
might  wear  some  sort  of  distinctive  uniform  (though  I  tremble 
here  lest  I  should  be  accused  of  leanings  towards  the  servile 
State).  The  officers  of  the  Corps  or  Guild  would  be  chosen  for 
their  power  of  dealing  with  boys.  On  leaving  school  the  boy 
would  be  attached  to  a  company  in  a  Corps,  under  a  particular 
officer,  who  would  be  responsible  for  all  matters  of  discipline, 
for  organized  games,  for  conducting  summer  camps,  and  so  forth. 
At  the  age  of  eighteen  or  so  the  boy  would  leave  the  Corps  for 
a  definite  situation.  All  the  numerous  public  services,  which 
are  recruited  largely  from  adult  labour,  would  naturally  draw 
their  recruits  from  the  publicly  organized  industrial  army  of 
boy-workers.  And  those  youths  who  could  not  be  placed  in 
situations  of  absolutely  assured  permanency  would,  at  any  rate, 
be  better  equipped  for  the  chances  of  life  than  the  overgrown 
errand-boy,  or  the  superfluous  little  piecer  or  van-boy."  ' 

Keeling  became  much  interested  in  the  history  and  work  of  the 
certifying  factory  surgeons.  Although  the  question  is  one  arising 
out  of  the  study  of  juvenile  labour,  I  have  forgotten  exactly 
why  it  was  that  for  a  time  his  interest  in  this  overshadowed 
his  interest  in  other  aspects  of  the  juvenile  problem,  but  I 
remember  that  his  enthusiasm  infected  me.  The  paper  "  The 
Medical  Supervision  of  Juvenile  Workers  "  read  by  me  at  the 
National  Conference  on  the  Prevention  of  Destitution  2  in  1912, 
was  the  first  outcome  in  this  direction.  Keeling,  who  investi- 
gated the  whole  problem  with  great  thoroughness,  intended  to 
publish  a  book  on  it,  and  got  a  considerable  way  with  the  arrange- 
ment of  his  materials  and  the  actual  writing  of  it.  The  book 
was  never  published.  In  his  "  Child  Labour  in  the  United 
Kingdom  "  there  is  a  footnote  to  the  effect  that  "  a  work  by 
F.  Keeling  on  the  history  and  present  position  of  medical 
inspection  of  employed  children  and  juveniles  will  be  published 
shortly."  3  Before  he  had  finished  this  inquiry  other  interests 

1  "  The  Present  Position  of  the  Juvenile  Labour  Problem,"  by 
Frederic  Keeling.  Read  at  a  Conference  at  Bradford  on  14  March, 
1914  ;  published  by  the  North- Western  District  of  the  Workers' 
Educational  Association.  This  paper  is  packed  with  fact  and 
thought  ;  it  contains  both  tables  and  charts  illustrating  points 
made  in  the  paper. 

1  Pp.  -M5-53- 

J  P.  xii. 


320  KEELING  LETTERS 

were  absorbing  his  mind,  though  but  for  the  war  I  have  no 
doubt  that  the  book  would  have  been  completed.  It  is  probable 
that  his  manuscript  and  notes  are  now  lost,  but  if  they  still 
exist  I  hope  some  day  to  be  able  to  complete  hi$  study  of  the 
subject  for  publication.  Though  Keeling  possessed  adminis- 
trative ability  of  a  very  high  order,  his  temperament  unfitted 
him  for  official  life.  It  cramped  and  irritated  him  after  a  time, 
and  he  determined  to  resign.  He  was  glad  to  become  a  free-lance 
again,  though  the  restrictions  of  official  responsibility  were  not 
the  only  reasons  for  his  resignation.  He  wanted  more  leisure  for 
his  studies  than  his  Labour  Exchange  work  allowed  him.  But 
though  he  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  on  regaining  his  freedom, 
he  never  regretted  the  time  he  spent  as  a  Government  official. 
He  valued  highly  the  administrative  experience  it  gave  and 
the  peculiar  vantage-ground  it  offered  for  the  study  of  industrial 
problems.  He  left  Yorkshire  for  London,  there  to  begin  a  new 
period  of  intense  activity — the  chief  fruits  of  which  was  his 
"  Child  Labour  in  the  United  Kingdom."  l 

Keeling  had  joined  the  International  Association  for  Labour 
Legislation  in  1911,  and  attended  its  Biennial  Conference  at 
Zurich  in  September,  1912,  as  one  of  the  delegates  of  the  British 
Section,  serving  on  the  "  Commission  "  which  had  under  dis- 
cussion the  insurance  of  foreign  workmen,  child  labour,  and 
the  administration  of  Labour  laws.  The  Conference  adopted 
a  resolution  of  this  "  Commission "  requesting  the  various 
national  sections  to  appoint  special  committees  in  their  respective 
countries  to  investigate  and  report  on  the  question  of  child 
labour  and  the  best  method  of  enforcing  and  extending  the 
existing  laws  for  the  protection  of  children  to  a  Special  Inter- 
national Commission  appointed  to  discuss  the  whole  question. 
Accordingly,  in  October,  1912,  the  Committee  of  the  British 
Section  appointed  a  Sub-committee  to  prepare  a  report.  The 
Sub-committee  consisted  of  Keeling  as  chairman,  Lord  Henry 
Bentinck,  M.P.,  Miss  Constance  Smith,  Miss  Mary  Phillips,  and 
Miss  Sophie  Sanger.  Keeling  drafted  the  report,2  and  the  part 

1  "  Child  Labour  in  the  United  Kingdom  :  A  Study  of  the 
Development  and  Administration  of  the  Law  Relating  to  the 
Employment  of  Children,"  by  Frederic  Keeling,  M.A.,  late  scholar 
of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge  ;  formerly  Manager  and  Senior 
Organizing  Officer  on  the  Board  of  Trade  Labour  Exchanges 
(P.  S.  King  and  Son,  1914,  js.  6d.  net). 

J  In  1913  the  Special  International  Commission  on  Child  Labour 
met  in  Basle,  and  part  of  the  proofs  of  the  book  were  submitted 


APPENDIX  II  321 

he  played  in  its  preparation  is  sufficiently  indicated  by  the  fact 
that  his  name  appears  on  the  title-page  as  its  author.  Miss 
Sanger  refers  to  him  as  "  the  leading  spirit  "  of  the  Committee. 
He  brought  his  wide  knowledge  to  bear  on  the  question  and 
put  an  enormous  amount  of  effort  and  enthusiasm  into  the 
work.  It  is  pretty  certain  that  no  other  national  section  of 
the  Association  has  presented  so  elaborate  and  complete  a 
report.  Keeling  was  always  thorough,  and  the  volume  on  child 
labour  shows  it.  Those  who  helped  in  its  preparation  know 
that  he  never  counted  any  trouble  too  much  in  his  search  for 
information.  He  always  worked  with  great  vigour  and  con- 
siderable speed,  and  his  letters  to  me  at  this  time  indicate  that 
he  "  sweated  like  hell " — to  use  his  own  expressive  phrase — 
over  the  inquiry.  The  book  consists  largely  of  tables,  statistics, 
detailed  reports  of  local  administration  of  the  Employment  of 
Children  Act  and  kindred  laws,  and  a  reprint  of  the  laws  them- 
selves, but  the  historical  and  analytical  sections  are  the  most 
interesting.  The  former  is  a  piece  of  research  ;  the  latter  is 
a  masterly  study  of  the  administration  of  children's  employ- 
ment laws. 

Juvenile  labour  was,  however,  not  the  only  side  of  the  social 
problem  which  interested  Keeling.  He  visited  factories,  work- 
shops, and  mills  in  Yorkshire,  and  familiarized  himself  with 
industrial  processes  and  conditions.  In  the  West  Riding  of 
Yorkshire  ke  studied  with  the  deliberateness  and  patience  of 
the  investigator  the  industrial  system  at  work.  It  fascinated 
him  ;  previous  to  his  coming  to  the  North  he  had  never  come 
in  close  contact  with  the  industrial  world,  and  his  round  of 
visits  to  workplaces  was  in  the  nature  of  a  voyage  of  discovery 
He  mastered  the  intricacies  of  the  woollen  and  worsted,  engineer- 
ing, boot  and  shoe  and  other  industries.  Industrial  organization 
interested  him  immensely,  and  we  talked  more  than  once  of  a 
book  dealing  with  industrial  administration.  But  Keeling  had 
more  than  an  academic  interest  in  industry.  He  was  interested 
in  the  workers,  their  conditions,  wages  and  hours,  their  lives 
outside  the  factory,  their  organizations,1  and  their  problems. 

for  discussion.  Keeling  did  not  attend  this  meeting.  He  had, 
however,  been  appointed  to  attend  the  next  Biennial  Conference, 
which  should  have  taken  place  in  September,  1914. 

1  He  attended  many  meetings  of  trade-union  branches  and 
Trades  Councils.  It  was  typical  of  him  that  he  described  the 
sergeants'  mess  of  which  he  was  a  member  as  like  "  a  good  Trades 
Council."  This  he  regarded  as  complimentary  to  both. 

22 


822  KEELING  LETTERS 

He  had  many  opportunities  of  coming  into  close  touch  with 
working-class  life,  and  he  had  many  friends  amongst  the  trade 
unionists  of  Yorkshire.  At  one  time  Keeling  gave  a  good  deal 
of  thought  to  wages  questions,  but,  so  far  as  I  remember,  he 
never  wrote  on  the  subject.  The  problems  of  unemployment 
and  casual  labour,  however,  claimed  his  attention  much  more. 
Both  were  barriers  to  the  permanent  improvement  in  the 
position  of  the  workers.  What  added  interest  to  these  questions 
was  the  administrative  problems  to  which  they  give  rise.  After 
he  left  the  Labour  Exchanges  he  went  to  Germany  and, 
inter  alia,  studied  the  treatment  of  casual  labour  at  the 
Hamburg  Docks.  The  results  of  his  inquiry  he  published  in  the 
Economic  Journal.1  He  was  a  member  of  the  International 
Association  against  Unemployment,  and  attended  a  Conference 
at  Zurich  shortly  before  the  meeting  of  the  International 
Association  on  Labour  Legislation  to  which  I  have  already 
referred.  He  spoke  at  the  Conference  in  criticism  of  certain 
schemes  for  dealing  with  unemployment.  He  wrote  a  supple- 
ment to  the  Crusade a  for  January,  1913,  on  "  The  Un- 
employment Problem  in  1913."  He  spent  a  good  deal  of  time 
on  this,  as  he  contemplated  writing  a  book  on  Unemployment 
for  the  Social  Workers'  Series,  edited  by  his  friend  William  Foss. 
The  volume  was  announced  in  Mr.  Lloyd's  "  Trade  Unionism  " 
in  the  same  series,  but,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  Keeling  never 
got  beyond  the  preparation  of  his  materials.  He  had  on  his 
hands  the  book  on  Certifying  Factory  Surgeons,  and  then  the 
inquiry  into  "  Child  Labour  in  the  United  Kingdom  "  came 
along  before  the  former  was  written.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
war,  I  think  he  would  certainly  have  published  a  volume  on 
unemployment,  for  he  hated  to  begin  a  job  which  he  could  not 
complete. 

In  the  meantime,  and  before  he  left  the  Labour  Exchanges 
Department,  we  began  to  consider  the  question  of  Labour  laws 
more  scientifically  than  had  been  done  previously.  This  led 
Keeling  into  a  close  study  of  the  whole  range  of  industrial  laws. 
He  had  in  mind  an  ambitious  work  on  the  history  and  principles 
of  industrial  regulation.  The  only  fruits  of  this  study  was  a 
lecture  which  Keeling  delivered  at  Leeds  University  to  its 
University  tutorial  class  students,  and  a  course  of  six  lectures 

1  Economic  Journal,  March,  1913,  "  The  Casual  Labour  Problem." 
•  The  monthly  organ  of  the  National  Committee  for  the  Preven- 
tion of  Destitution.     He  contributed  several  short  unsigned  articles 
to  this  paper  on  Juvenile  Labour  questions,  etc. 


APPENDIX  II  823 

which  I  delivered  at  Balliol  College,  Oxford,  in  August,  1914, 
to  the  Summer  School  of  tutorial  class  students.  At  the  request 
of  the  students  I  promised  to  republish  the  lectures  as  an  Intro- 
duction to  the  history  and  principles  of  industrial  regulation, 
as  the  larger  projected  work  would  certainly  not  have  appeared 
for  a  considerable  time.  The  outbreak  of  war,  however,  put 
an  end  to  the  smaller  scheme,  and  with  the  death  of  Keeling 
the  larger  scheme  vanished,  at  any  rate  for  a  very  long  time. 
When  Keeling  died  we  lost  the  man  who  knew  more  about  the 
theory  and  principles  of  industrial  regulation  than  any  one  else, 
probably,  in  the  world. 

When  I  saw  him  on  his  last  leave — about  three  months  before 
he  was  killed — a  change  had  come  over  him.  It  was  not  that 
he  had  lost  interest  in  the  old  problems.  He  was  intensely 
interested  in  life,  and  he  had  had  new  experiences  which  put 
his  varied  interests  in  a  new  perspective.  I  remember  being 
amused  at  the  time  by  his  paternal  attitude,  towards  some  of 
the  younger  students  of  social  problems.  "  When  we  went  in 
for  these  things,"  he  said,  "  we  did  it  properly."  I  fear  he 
misjudged  the  new  school,  perhaps  because  in  some  ways  he 
had  become  less  "  advanced  "  in  his  views  during  the  war.  He 
talked  of  coming  to  stay  with  me  for  a  month  when  he  left  the 
Army,  in  order  to  finish  his  reading  for  the  Bar,  after  which — 
though  his  personal  plans  were  always  subject  to  sudden  and 
violent  upheaval — he  intended  to  go  to  New  Zealand  and 
practise  law,  with  a  view  to  politics.1 

This  was  not  the  only  plan  for  the  future  he  told  me  of. 
He  was,  indeed,  full  of  plans.  But  none  was  to  be  realized. 
What  was  lost  by  his  death  to  the  causes  for  which  he  cared 
will  only  be  realized  by  those  who  had  learnt  to  value  in  him 
the  union  of  the  tireless  curiosity  and  attention  to  detail  of  the 
scientific  student  and  the  tireless  energy  of  the  propagandist 
with  which,  when  he  had  reached  conclusions,  he  threw  them 
into  a  scheme  and  expounded  and  defended  them. 

I  say  nothing  of  his  character  and  human  qualities — "with 
this  side  of  him  I  am  not  concerned.  He  was  a  great  man  in 
the  making.  When  he  died  he  had  not  reached  the  height  of 
his  powers.  All  his  work  up  to  the  time  he  entered  the  Army 
was  but  the  promise  of  greater  accomplishments.  Those  who 
knew  him  do  not  need  to  be  told  of  his  intellectual  ability.  He 
had  most  of  the  qualities  of  both  the  scholar  and  the  adminis- 
trator. And  though  there  are  some  who  might  be  inclined  to 

1  At  one  time  he  had  thought  of  entering  Parliament  at  home. 


824  KEELING  LETTERS 

think  otherwise,  he  was  strongly  self-disciplined.  Few  people 
work  as  intensely  and  whole-heartedly  as  Keeling  did,  and 
though  there  may  be  many  who  work  more  rapidly,  there  are 
none  who  worked  more  thoroughly  than  he  did.  He  never  put 
pen  to  paper  until  he  was  absolutely  sure  of  his  facts.  He  had 
infinite  patience,  so  far  as  his  researches  were  concerned,  and 
though  we  often  spun  Utopias,  his  studies  were  always  severely 
practical.  Had  Keeling  survived  the  war,  there  is  no  doubt 
whatever  that  the  world  would  have  been  enriched  by  the 
fruits  of  his  fertile  mind,  his  intimate  knowledge  of  social  and 
economic  problems,  and  his  passion  for  truth. 

When  I  say  that  he  should  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  first 
six  men  of  his  generation,  I  am  repeating  what  I  said  many 
times  during  his  lifetime.  And  looking  back  on  those  few 
years  of  intense  effort,  I  remember  the  long  and  intimate  dis- 
cussions we  had,  with  half-conceived  ideas  and  plans  floating 
through  them,  and  the  tragedy  of  his  death  comes  home  with 
terrific  force. 

When  Keeling  died,  the  British  Commonwealth  (as  he  preferred 
to  call  it)  lost  one  of  its  worthiest  citizens.  Though  in  the  old 
days  he  was  a  State  Socialist,  yet  his  complex  personality 
cherished  liberty  as  its  chief  possession.  No  man  had  a  stronger 
passion  for  liberty  than  he.  "  This  crushing  German  trade 
agitation  is  disgusting,"  he  wrote  to  me  in  April,  1916.  "  I 

took  up  a  rifle  to  fight  for  human  liberty,  not  for  one 

set  of  hucksterers  against  another."  Human  liberty — 

that  was  the  real  motive  behind  all  his  work,  and  eventually 
he  died  for  it. 


INDEX 


ADDAMS,  JANE,  255-6 

Alsace-Lorraine,  293 

America,   plans   to  work  in,    1x6, 

151 

Anglo-French  Entente,  90 
Anti-clericalism  in  Cambridge,  119 
Appendix  I,  313-15 
Appendix  II,  316-24 
Arab  revolt,  views  on    298-9 
Archduke  Francis  Ferdinand,  mur- 
der of,  176 

Armenian  atrocities,  291-2 
Arnold,  Matthew,  no,  141 
Arran,  Isle  of,  19-20 
Athletics,  value  of,  in  the  Army, 

218-19 

Australia,  minimum  wage  in,  139 
Australian  Labour  politics,  151 
Austrian  rule  in  Bosnia,  141 

BALKANS,  141 
Barres,  Maurice,  293 
Barrington-Ward,  R.,  Capt.,  313 ; 

letter  from,  314-15 
Beatenberg,  Switzerland,  50 
Bennett,  Arnold,  98,  298 
Bentinck,  Lord  Henry,  94,  293 
Besant,  Mrs.,  309 
Bethmann  Hollweg,  300 
Bianco-White,  Mrs.  G.  R.,  9-10 
Board  of  Education,  130 
Bombardments,  horrors  of,  259,  263 
Bonn,  Dr.,  82-3 
Bottomley,  Horatio,  252 
Boy  Labour,  126-7,  129,  318 
Boy  Scouts,  319 
Brailsford,  H.  N.(  243 
British  Workers'  National  League, 

293 

Brooke,  Rupert,  death  of,  224 ; 
references,  18,  23,  144,  185,  256, 
263,  275 


Buddhism  v.  Christianity,  76 

Budget,  1909,  53-4 

Bully  Beef  Mine,   The,   by   F.   H. 

Keeling,  267 
Burge,  Dr.,  3 

CAMBRIDGE,  LIFE  AT,  22-37 
Cambridge  Magazine,  255 
Cambridge       University       Fabian 

Society,  8-14 

Camp  life,  189-97,  198-203 
Campbell,  A.  Y.,  letter  to,  52 
Campbell-Bannerman,  Sir  H.,  253 
Canada,  133 

Care  Committee,  work  on,  46 
Carpenter,  Edward,  20,  62,  308-10 
Casual  labour,  research  work    on, 

322 

Cavell,  Nurse,  248,  259 
Central  Europe,  views  on,  81-2 
Child  and  the  State,  The,  by  Margaret 

Macmillan,  70 
Child  Labour  in  the  United  Kingdom, 

by  F.  H.  Keeling,  319—21 
Churchill,  Winston,  52,  96,  130-3, 

289,  290,  308,  316 
Coit,  R.  V.,  9 
Colchester,   i,   155,   197,  282,  285, 

288,  306,  311 
Collectivism  v.   Individualism,   43, 

62 
Common  Sense  about  the   War,  by 

G.  B.  Shaw,  199 
Commonwealth  v.  Empire,  290 
Conscription,  views  on,  228-9,  240, 

244-7,  251 

Constantinople,  296-7 
Constructive  criticism,  value  of,  136 
Contemporary  Review,  254 
Co-operative  system,  praise  of,  185 
Corporal,  promotion  to,  191 
Coxall.  Mrs..  18 


336 


32G 


INDEX 


Cricket  in  war-time,  293 
Crusade,  the,  322 
Curran,  Pete,  10 

Daily  Chronicle,  the,  258 

Daily  Mail,  the,  251 

Daily  News,  the,  279 

Dalmatia,  trip  to,  157-67 

Dalton,  Hugh,  12,  23 

Danks,  W.,  Rev.,  letter  to,  260-1 

Democracy,  136 

Dilke,  Charles,  Sir,  129 

Diplomacy,  90 

Doncaster,  113 

Drill,  value  of,  185 

Drink  in  the  Army,  213 

Drummond,  Mrs.,  10 

Early    Days,    by    F.    H.    Keeling, 

203-8 

Education,  13,  88-9,  130-2,  136 
Eight-hour  day,  129 
Eisenach,  144 
Ensor,  R.  C.  K.,  letters  to,  223,  227- 

9,  235-8,  257-60 
Entente  with  France,  131-40 
Eugenics,  73 

Fabian  News,  the,  307 
Fabian  Society,  14,  109-10,  307-8 
Factory  Acts  in  France,  129-30 
Factory   legislation    under     Home 

Rule,  100-7 
Family  v.  new  social  organization, 

24-5 

Federalism,  views  on,  133 
"  Fish  and  Chimney,"  19 
Fontaine,  Mr.,  129 
Food  in  the  Army,  214-16 
Fort,  Mr.,  6 

Fortnightly  Review,  the,  304 
Fragments    from    France,     by     B. 

Bairnsfather,  278 
France,  Anatole,  133,  135 
Frankfurter  Zeitung,  140 
French,  appreciation  of  the,  273 
French   Labour   Department,    129, 

134-5 
French    v.    English    and    German 

Labour  reforms,  129-30 
Friendship      between      men      and 

women,  97 


GAMBLING  IN  THE  ARMY,  274 

German  colonial  movement,  84-5 

Germans,  comparison  with  French 
and  English,  130,  131,  135, 137, 
140,  142 

Germany,  visit  to,  4 

Getting  Married,  by  G.  B.  Shaw,  76 

Gide,  Charles,  134 

Girton  College,  20 

Gissing,  George,  131 

Gluck's  "Orpheus,"  116 

Goethe,  J.  W.,  132,  134,  135 

Graham,  Stephen,  310 

Green,  Mrs.,  letters  to,  225-7, 
239-40,  247-50,  251-7,  262-3, 
263-6,  266-7,  271-2,  272-4,  274- 
5,  279-80,  281-2,  283-5,  285-8, 
291-4,  294-5,  295-6,  296-7,  297- 
9,  299-300,  300-2,  303-4,  304-6, 
306-7,  308-9,  310-11 

Grey,  Sir  Edward,  130,  289,  308 

Guest,  Haden,  9 

HALDANB,  LORD,  186 
Hardie,  Keir,  10,  11,  39-40 
Haynes,  E.  S.  P.,   letters   to,  224, 

231-3,250-1,275-8 
Heine,  Heinrich,  132,  134 
Hibbert  Journal,  262 
History  of  the  Fabian  Society,  by 

E.  R.  Pease,  306 
History,  better  teaching  of,  88-9 
Hobson,  J.  A.,  82 
"  Home  Rule  all  round,"  101 
Home    Rula    Problems,    by    Basil 

Williams,  103 

Home  v.  foreign  politics,  130 
Hubback,  F.  W.,  n,  19 
Hubback,    Mrs.    (Miss    Eva    Spiel- 

mann),  letters  to,  224-5,  234-5 
Humanism  v.  Theism,  255 
Hyndman,  137 

INDEPENDENT  LABOUR  PARTY,  12, 

39-41 

Individual  v.  State,  143 
Individualism,  74 
Individual's  debt  to  society,  97 
Industrial  organization,  321 
Insurance  Act,   136 
International  conferences,  value  of, 

128 


INDEX 


327 


International  eight-hour  day,  hopes 

of,  129 
International    Labour    legislation, 

103-7,  128 
International     movement     against 

war,  hopes  of,  232-3 
Ireland,  visit  to,  60-1 
Irish  revolution,  282 
Italy,  travels  in,  128-47 

JAY,  RAOUL,  134 

KEELING,  F.  H.     Childhood  of,  1-3; 

early  Fabian  activities  of,  8-14  ; 

enlistment  of,  185  ;   marriage  of, 

47-8 ;     School     days     of,    3-8 ; 

University  days  of,  8-21 
Kitchener's    Army,    Int   by    F.   H. 

Keeling,  208-17 
Kitchener's  Army,    188,  194,   203, 

217-22,  241 
Kropotkin,  Madame,  13 

LABOUR  EXCHANGE,  WORK  IN,  316 

Labour  legislation,  103-7 

Labour  protection,  books  on,  135-7 

Lago  Maggiore,  49 

Land  and  Water ,  186 

Law,  Scottish  and  English,  133 

Lay  ton,  W.  T.,  9 

League  of  Peace,  views  on,  300 

Leave,  on,  283 

Leeds  Labour  Exchange,  57-80 

Leeds,  life  in,  57-80,  81-127,  31? 

Liberal    politics,    appreciation    of, 

174, 175-6 

Liebknecht,  Dr.  Carl.,  259 

Llanbedr,  22-37 

Lloyd  George,  D.,  Rt.  Hon.,  248-50 

Local  Taxation  Report,  171 

London,  life  in,  147-82 

Louvain,  187 

Love's  Coming  of  Age,  by  E.  Car- 
penter, 20 

Lugano,  132 

Luther,  Martin,  Dr.,  144 

MCCARTHY,  DESMOND,  298 
Macarthy,  Lilian,  18 
Macdonald,  T.  Ramsay,  M.P.,  103 
Macedonia,   141 

Man  and  Superman ,  by  G.  B.  Shaw, 
28 


Manchester  Guardian,  104,  140 

Markham,  Miss  V.  R.,  104 

Marshall,  Prof.,  21 

Meliorism,  65-6 

Memoir,  1-21 

Meredith,  George,  49,  1 19 

Mill,  John  Stuart,  138 

Mines  Acts,  130 

Minimum  wage,  139 

Missenden,  Great,  49,  52 

Modern  Utopia,  A,  by  H.  G.  Wells, 
123 

Moggridge,  Edith,  10 

Mohammedanism,  298-9,  305-6 

Montague,  E.  S.,  18 

Montenegro,  visit  to,  164-7 

Morley,  Lord,  36,  115,  125,  138 

Mottram,  V.  H.,  10,  n  (photo- 
graphs, frontispieca  and  facing 

P-  39) 

Munich,  82,  83 
Murray,  Gilbert,  Prof.,  62 

NAPOLEON,  VIEWS  ON,  303 
Nation,    the,    119,    131,    181,   273, 

279, 294,  296 
New  Agt,  the,  288 
Newnham,  20 
New  Statesman,  the,  154,  199,  203, 

280,  298,  305 

Northcliffe,  Lord,  248,  250 
North  Wales,  78-9 
Norway,  journey  to,  63-8 

OBJECTIVE  AND  SUBJECTIVE 
methods  in  sociology,  too 

Officers  and  privates  on  active 
service,  234-5,  238 

Official  machinery,  defects  in,  112- 

13 

Old  Age  Pensions,  136 
Olivier,  Sidney,  Sir,   10 
On  the  Evetby  F.  H.  Keeling,  217-22 
Oxford,  138 

PACIFISM,  FUTURE  OF,  259 
Pan-Germanism,  90 
Patriotism,  views  on,  252,  253 
Pease,  Edward  R.,  letter  to,  8,  10, 

307-8 

Persia,  130 
Personal    experience    of   industrial 

problems,  125 


328 


INDEX 


Political  science  v.  sentimentalism, 

101 

Predestination,  95 
Profiteering,  on,  271-2,  289 
Protestants,  133,  134 
Public  Opinion,  287 
Public  School  system,  defects  of,  89 
Punch,  255 

RADICALS,  131 

Realism,  need  of,  131-2 

Red    Feather,  the,  266,  279,   313, 

314-15 
Regimental   life,    appreciation    of, 

202,  221 
Revolutionary       v.      evolutionary 

methods,  41-2 
Round  Table,  the,  260 
Rousseau,  J.  Jacques,  115-43 
Russell,  Bertrand,  Hon.,  310 
Russian  Revolution,  13 

SALONICA,  302 

Salzen-Ziegler,  Mr.,  129 

Sanger,  Miss,  100 

Scawfell,  45 

Scilly  Isles,  visit  to,  149-51 

School  Child,  the,  129,  142 

School-feeding,  13,  45 

School  of  Economics,  113 

Scotland,  133 

Selwyn,  Rev.  E.  G.,  23 

Sergeants'  messes,  collectivist  spirit 

in,  195 

Sergeant-majors,  views  on,  295 
Sergeant,  promotion  to,  193 
Sex  and  Society,  by  Havelock  Ellis, 

149,  151 

Scutari,  visit  to,   159-64 
Shakespeare,  William,  15,  19 
Sharp,  Clifford  D.,  letter  to,  290-1 
Shaw,  G.  B.,  10,  14,  18,  20,  138,  142, 

298,  308 

Sheehy  Skeffington,  285 
Smuggling  in  Scotland,  108-9 
Snowden,  Mrs.  Philip,  13 
Socialism,    views     on,     2,     151-2, 

172-3 

Social  legislation  in  Italy,  124 
Social  problems,  urgency  of,  130 
Sociology,  functions  of,   123-4 
Sociology,  research  work  in,  93-4, 

100 


Soldiering  in  England,  183-222 

Soldiering,  views  on,  257 

Soldier  on  Compulsion,  A,  by  F.  H. 

Keeling,  244-7 

Soldiers'  Homes,  praise  of,  191 
Soldiers'  songs,  241-4 
Southern  Slav  question,  297 
Squire,  J.  C.,  9,  19  ;  letters  to,  23, 

241-4 

St.  Gothard,  113,  134-5 
Staff-work,  criticism  of,  237-8 
State,  the,  71,  108,  136,  138 
Stokoe,  T.  R.,  Lt.-Col.,  letter  from, 

3U 

Strikes  of  1911,  92-3 
Strindberg's   Toientang,    140,    144, 

M5 

Sudekum,  Dr.,  10 
Switzerland,  travels  in,  50-1,  128- 

47 
Syndicalism,  122-3 

TECHNICAL  EDUCATION,  70-1 
Times,  the,  202,  251,  308 
Tolstoy,  138 

Townshend,   Miss   C.,    letters     to, 
148-9,  153,  154-5,  177-8.  188-9, 

I9I-2, 197-8,  2OO-I 

Townshend,  Miss  R.   (Mrs.    F.    H. 

Keeling).  30,  33,  49,  70.  71.  75. 

'45,  167 

Trade  unionism,  92-3,  129 
Trade  war,  views  on,  291,  293,  304- 

5,  324 

Trades  Disputes  Bill,  13 
Trenches,   life   in   the,  236,  253-4, 

262,  295 

Trinity  College,  4 
Tripoli,  90-91 
Turkey,  141 

ULSTER,     SEPARATE    PARLIAMENT 

for,  133,  134 
Unemployment   Problem    in     1913, 

The,  by  F.  M.  Keeling,  322 
Union  of  Democratic  Control,  256, 

259 

VENICE,  VISIT  TO,  157 

Vernon  Lee  (Miss  Paget),   50,  90, 

281 

Verona,  visit  to,  87-90 
Voltaire,  138,  278 


INDEX 


329 


WAGNER,  RICHARD,  15 

Wallas,  Graham,  112,  123 

Walworth  Road,  life  in,  38-56 

War,  first  taste  of,  226-44 

War  work  in  provincial  towns,  197 

War  poetry.  280 

Ward,    Dudley,    31,    33,  140,  145, 

176 

Wartburg,  the,  144 
Webb,  Mrs.  Sidney,  10,  30,  138 
Webb,  Sidney,  10,  18,  20 
Wells,  H.  G.,  10,   14,   18 
West,  Rebecca,  121 
Winchester  College,  2,  6-8 


Winchester  College  Corps,  6 
Winterthur,  129 
Woman  Labour,  77,   128 
Woman  Suffrage,  13,  287 
Women's  Industrial  News,  103 
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